A 14th Century Supplement in Celestia's Court
by Antiquarian
First published
A short compendium of supplementary data, bonus chapters, spinoff chapters, and spoof chapters for A 14th Century Friar in Celestia's Court.
A short compendium of supplementary data, bonus chapters, spinoff chapters, and spoof chapters for A 14th Century Friar in Celestia's Court. Some are chapters which will be canon for the main story but which would interrupt the flow by getting sidetracked with, say, philosophy, religion, or history to a degree which would drag for many readers. Some will be helpful guides (like the character description guide for the first chapter). Some will be more along the lines of a crackfic - a non-canon bit with 14th C. characters that I wrote out of boredom or some measure of derangement. Technically, this isn't a sequel to 14th C., but it won't make much sense without the context.
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Cover art is the Hospitaller cross.
Antiquarian's Guide to Ponies You Vaguely Remember
A 14th Century Character List in Celestia’s Court
Antiquarian sat at his dark oaken desk in the midst of his expansive study, quill scratching away as he tried not to fall asleep mid-sentence. A critic had once observed that the study and its owner suited each other well: a stuffy old room filled with dust, antiques, and archaic books, all battered and worn, and a dusty brown unicorn in faded tweed jacket, his disheveled brown mane and mustache turning mostly to grey and his forest green aura and eyes darkening with bitterness. Antiquarian had not disputed the critic other than to note that he had plenty of modern books as well, and that his aura and eyes had always been dark.
His secretary, the ever-patient Miss Aura, bustled into the room, her pale coat and red-gold mane a bright mote of youth and energy in the archaic room. She opened her mouth, likely to make some remark on Antiquarian’s state of disrepair, but paused, suddenly thoughtful and not a little confused. “Didn’t we already do this?”
“Do what?” asked Antiquarian, his eyes not rising from his work.
“This,” she repeated, gesturing to the room. “This whole…thing. I feel like we did this exact introduction for your interlude chapter.”
Antiquarian’s brow furrowed. “Interlude chapter?”
“Don’t play the fool, Antiq. It seldom suits you.”
“Ouch,” muttered the aging stallion. “Well, fine. You caught me. The readers have been after me to put out a chapter with basic character descriptions so that they can keep everypony straight.”
“So why the repeat intro?”
“Because technically, my dear, we’re characters too, and I’m too tired to rewrite what I felt was a brilliant description of us.” He sat back with a smirk. The smirk evaporated when Aura frowned. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s just... It’s a little sparse is all,” she admitted. “You don’t say your cutie mark, mention the five-o-clock shadow you’ve got going, how bloodshot your eyes are—”
“That will do,” he muttered.
“… and, to be frank, I don’t get much description at all. You don’t even say what race I am.”
The stallion harrumphed. “Fine. My cutie mark is a dark green book the color of my eyes and aura with a sword on the cover and a quill crossed over it. As for you my loyal aide, your eyes are light blue, just like your aura because, like me, you are a unicorn. You tend to wear a simple black blouse and a red jacket that complements your fiery golden-red mane and tail, and your cutie mark is a golden-edged clock with an infinity symbol at the center to symbolize your limitless patience, especially with the train wreck that is my conscious mind. Your full name is Aura de Patience, and I simply cannot function without you to keep me on track. Happy?”
Aura gave him a smile that was both fond and censorious. “No need to be so hard on yourself, sir. This is your project after all.”
“Yes, yes, and it’s my readers who demand this of me,” he grumbled. “Now be off with you, or you’ll be late for your date!”
She smiled and headed for the door. “Thanks, boss. Don’t stay up too late.”
“I’d say the same to you…” he trailed off when she shot an arch look back, “… if I didn’t know you well enough to know that any stallion that gets fresh with you will be in for a painful introduction to the pavement.” She smiled. “All the same, feel free to remind him—”
“That you’ve studied the torture techniques of every decrepit and wicked empire on the planet. Yes, I’ll be sure to mention that if he welches on the tab,” she remarked dryly.
“Have fun!” he called out as she left. His fond smile faded as he turned to glower at the readers.
You, specifically.
“Now listen up!” he barked. “I’m going to do my best to keep this updated, and I’ll put the characters down in order of what chapter they appear in or, in the case of ponies like Oaken and Ironhide, what chapter they’re described in. Not alphabetical order, because that might mean spoilers later on. So don’t scroll too far down, or you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. If I miss anyone, let me know what chapter they came in on to make it easier for me to add them. I’ll also add specific armor and uniforms at the start if I think of them. If the description isn’t here, then it might just be a canon character, so check before you yell at me. As for why this is a separate story, well, I plan on adding some non-canon chapters here and there for fun as well as some world-building chapters that don’t really fit the narrative but will still be canon. Those of you who wanted complex theology will find it in the latter category. As for the former… well… let’s just say that any of you wondering how Friar Jacques would have reacted to being dumped in, say, Equestria Girls might just get your answer some time in the future.” He allowed himself a wintery smile. “Happy reading.”
Uniforms
Royal Expeditionary Force (REF) Armor
Steel-colored base, with gold and red trim and red crests on the helmets. The armor has a slightly more medieval cut to it than the Solar/Lunar armor, though, like them, it still emphasizes a blend of medieval and Greco-Roman.
The Solar and Lunar Guards
“But Antiquarian,” I hear you saying. “They’re in the show! We know what they look like.” That’s true, you do, but since the guards are always one of two coat/mane colors for the first several seasons, I’ve taken to the rather common fan-theory that, at least until recent days, the Equestrian Royal Guards have glamour enchantments cast on their armor to make them appear uniform.
Equestrian Army Full Dress Uniforms
See the Royal Wedding. Dress Reds for officers. Dress blacks for enlisted.
Equestrian Army Dress Uniform
Worn when not in armor but also not in full dress. Green uniforms akin to WWI/WWII era British Army uniforms or modern U.S. Marine Dress, with brown belts and piping. Individual specializations (like the Fusiliers, REF, Solar, and Lunar Guards) which still fall under the Army designation will have different insignia. Separate units like the Marines or the Rangers have uniforms that are similar but have added piping and slightly different cuts to differentiate.
Equestrian Military Intelligence (EMI) Dress Uniform
Same as above, with the emblem of the crossed swords and watchful eye.
Equestrian Chaplains Corps Dress Uniform
Same as above, with the emblem of a blazing heart (Hearths Warming-style) with a sword behind it. Roanan collars and black 'clerics' are worn under the uniform tunic in place of standard shirt and tie.
Equestrian General Infantry (GIs or “Regulars”)
A plainer version of armor similar in cut to the others, with steel grey plate and ultramarine crests.
Royal Marine Corps (RMC)
A plainer version of armor similar in cut to the others, with blue-black steel plate and black crests. On land, they often camouflage their armor to suit the local terrain and wear helmets without crests. The armor also has a tendency to lend itself more to the medieval than to the medieval/Greco-Roman blend of the Army. Broad-brimmed and full-face helmets are common.
Royal Navy (RN)
Naval armor is often lighter than its Army and Marine counterpart, with a few steel plates covering critical areas. The uniforms are blue with red piping.
Royal Fusiliers (RF)
A plainer version of armor similar in cut to the others, with steel grey plate and pale green crests and red piping.
Equestrian Auxiliary Corps (also called “The Reserves”)
A plainer version of armor similar in cut to the others, with steel grey plate and olive drab crests.
Equestrian Air Corps (EAC)
Unarmored flight suits resemble the standard Wonderbolts rig, while combat rig resembles what was seen in the Crystal War universe. The standard base color is always blue, but other unit insignias replace the Wonderbolts colors in both cases.
Equestrian Rangers (ER)
Technically, a plainer version of armor similar in cut to the others, with steel grey plate and dark forest green crests, piping, and cloaks. It should be noted, however, that Ranger uniforms vary broadly. Many eschew the crest entirely, and armor is often more medieval than Greco-Roman. Broad-brimmed and full-face helmets are common. When Rangers operate in small squads or singletons, they often eschew any sort of uniform entirely, and even in full units ‘uniform’ is more of a note that the dark green barding of the Ranger is present somewhere under the varied kit (some military, some civilian, some bandit) that the Rangers have acquired.
Dramatis Personae
Captain Argent Sabre
Unicorn mare. Magenta coat. Crimson eyes. Silver mane and tail, vaguely similar to Trixie’s in cut but slightly shorter and much more meticulously maintained. Fit. Lean. A soldier’s build. Cutie Mark is a trio of gold-and-silver hilted sabers – the central one has a red tassel hanging from it, and the other two are crossed over it. Silver/white magical aura. When in uniform, her armor is almost always immaculate, with the addition of red chords and tassels (equivalent to what you might see on a WWI era UK full dress uniform) and golden flourishes – as much showiness as she can add without breaking regulation.
Friar Jacques de Charette
Tall. Broad-shouldered without being heavy – he has a bad case of lean old man strength. Pale eyes and weathered features. A full beard and head of hair, mostly iron grey and white at this point but at one point dark brown, borderline black. Many, many scars and gnarled hands. Thus far mostly only seen in black Hospitaller robes or his Templar armor.
Brother Andrew
Tall. A little taller Jacques, in fact, and though he is a touch thinner he is still quite strongly built. Square-jawed and blonde haired, generally attired in his Templar garb.
Prior Methuselah
A truly ancient man of Moorish descent; dark-skinned, weathered, and wrinkled. Bald, but with a thick white beard that stretches almost to his waist. He is generally blind, but is in some chapters seen with chocolate-colored eyes.
Medevac
Pegasus stallion. Former Marine medic, and it shows. Still wears his silver-grey mane and tail in a short soldier’s cut, as we see on the Crystal Guards in Season 6 or the security guard in Read it and Weep. Brown coat with darker brown eyes. His left rear leg is a metal prosthetic that reaches up to his haunch. His cutie mark is an upwards pointing silver-white arrow with wings outswept from it. It’s usually covered by a white labcoat.
First Sergeant Brick
Earth pony stallion. Big Mac’s size. Brick-red fur with darker red mane and tail, cut similar to Big Mac’s. Eyes are brown-red. His cutie mark is exactly what you think it is. He’s usually in an up-armored version of REF armor and carrying a truly massive maul.
First Lieutenant Morning Song
Earth pony mare. Alabaster white. Thick, loose-flowing black mane and tail with golden streaks. Dark blue eyes. Cutie mark of an eighth-note with a sun for the ball. Often seen in REF armor with heavier-than-standard hoof guards.
Corporal Thresher
Earth pony stallion. REF. Dark green fur that’s almost blue it’s so dark, with red hair fringed with that same green. Dark blue-green eyes. Cutie mark is a threshing tool that looks more like a military flail than a farming implement. His weapon is the same.
Mason Grey
Earth pony stallion. Grey-coated, with a distinguished white mane cropped like a businessman’s. His cutie mark is a stone smith’s compass and stylus. His favored outfit is often something to the effect of a dapper blue jacket, rose tie, and gold cufflinks and pocket watch of the highest quality. He has begun to show wrinkles in his age (middle-aged).
Colonel Earnest Query, “Ernie”
Earth pony stallion. Heavyset, aging, with dark grey coat and black come-over. Usually wearing glasses (the large ones of the 50s/60s). Cutie mark is a question mark. Usually seen in an EMI Dress uniform.
First Lieutenant Close Watch
Unicorn mare. Pale blue coat. Icy blue eyes. Blonde mane and tail. Very lightly built, but lean rather than weak. Gold magical aura. Cutie mark is a magnifying glass. Usually seen in an EMI Dress uniform.
Sandstone
Earth pony stallion. Golden-brown coat. Brown mane and tail. Average size for an earth pony, but slightly below average strength. A trio of sandstone bricks for a cutie mark.
Sea Breeze
Unicorn mare. Cyan coat. Short blue-green mane and tail. A little on the small side, but not so much as to really stand out. A cresting wave with a wind current overhead for a cutie mark.
Brother Tweed
A wizened old unicorn stallion of tweed color and tweed jacket with glasses and the air of a professor.
Brother Thornberry
Earth pony stallion. Dark blue coat. Black mustache, mane, and tail. Fiery red eyes. Stocky. Cutie mark is his namesake.
Colour Sergeant Krucjata Włócznia, “Fritters”
Unicorn stallion. Scruffy chocolate brown coat. Red and white mane, tail, and stubble. Bloodshot icy blue eyes. Lanky and lean to the point of appearing cadaverous, but with deceptively wiry muscles. Cutie mark is an upheld spear with gleaming tip and red pennant. Red magical aura. Generally seen in REF rig with a long-bladed spear and (sometimes) two additional spearheads hung at his side like shortswords.
Staff Sergeant Marble Slab
Pegasus stallion. Red coat. Three tone mane and tail: grey, off-grey, and off-white. Unusually short, but compact and muscular rather than small. Cutie mark is a marble slab shaped vaguely like a Roman tower shield. Generally seen in REF rig with a large shield (cut like Flash Magnus’, but with REF colors) and a gladius.
Kiln “Quartermaster”
Earth pony stallion. Pale, ash-grey fur. Short mane and tail the color of burning embers. Eyes of the same color, with pupils and irises that are a shade unnaturally large. White suit jacket and fedora (the former of which covers his cutie mark) and a tie of the same color as his hair and eyes. Half a head larger than Big Mac and muscular in the extreme without appearing disproportionate.
Kuro Ken
Unicorn stallion (of Far Eastern descent). Off-white coat. Black mane with a widow’s peak and slicked back in a ponytail (his tail’s black too… just realized that could be confusing with actual ponies). Pale green magical aura. His cutie mark is a pair of crossed black katanas.
Inkling
Nope. Just… nope. I mean, she’s a mare… but… beyond that, nope.
Dagger
Pegasus stallion. Russet-red coat. Silver-grey mane and tail. Grey eyes. Cutie mark is a trio of daggers, each of a different style, each crossed over each other. Usually armed with wingblades.
Falx
Unicorn stallion. Purple coat. Brown mane and tail, both pulled back in braids. Tall, handsome, fit. Dark green eyes. Favors the falx and hook, and his cutie mark is one crossed over the other.
Sai
Unicorn stallion (of Far Eastern descent). Pale blue coat with white mane and tail. Blue eyes and magic aura. Cutie mark is a sai.
Thorn
Pegasus stallion. Very dark green with crimson mane. Dark red eyes. A little shorter than average. Cutie mark is an ouroboros that appears to be of a twisting green vine with red thorns rather than a standard serpent.
Guillotine
Earth pony stallion. Pale cream coat. Black mane and tail. Tall, broad, and portly. Wields a massive headsman’s axe. Cutie mark is a pair of axes crossed over each other.
Silhouette
Unicorn mare. Jet black coat, mane, and tail, and midnight blue eyes and aura. Her cutie mark is a dancing unicorn of midnight blue with subtle stars in her coat. Favors the arming sword.
Cloak
Unicorn stallion. Silver grey muzzle and hooves are all that show beneath his black cloak. Lean.
Lance Corporal Comet
Unicorn stallion. Solar Guard with the white-and-blue glamour active.
Private Oaken
Earth pony stallion. When not attired in the Lunar Guard armor and under the effects of its glamour, he has a brown coat, darker brown mane and tail, and forest green eyes. His cutie mark is a coat-of-arms: a grey shield bearing the symbol of a towering tree of brown and green.
Private Ironhide
Unicorn stallion. Even without the Lunar Guard glamour, he has the standard slate grey coat, silver mane and tail, and golden eyes of the Lunars. Silver magic aura. Cutie mark is an iron chain shirt.
Specialist First Class Bound Glyph
Unicorn stallion. Light blue coat. Gold mane and tail. Red eyes. Cutie mark is a basic control glyph for magical wards. Often attired in Solar Guard regalia with the white-and-blue glamour.
Professor Page Turner, PhD
Unicorn stallion. White-coated. Greying brown mane and tail. Cutie mark is a book with a page mid-turn. Favors garb like his trademark fashionable green turtleneck.
First Lieutenant Snapshot
Unicorn stallion. REF. Barrel-chested. Dark plum coat with a black mane and tail and a receding maneline. Cutie mark of a crossbow being swung upwards into a firing position.
Sergeant Miru
Pegasus mare. REF. Wiry build. Light tan coat with grey mane and tail, all of which are often scruffy (though clean). She has white tattoos patterned on the paint of her ancestors, the Austailian Aborigines. Cutie mark of a Miru spear-thrower and spear.
Chaplain First Lieutenant Trench, Cleric, Ordos Solaris
Earth pony stallion. REF. Pale peach coat and light brown mane and tail. Glasses. Cutie Mark of a blazing Hearths Warming heart with a trenching shovel behind it.
Corporal Booker
Unicorn stallion. REF. Company Clerk for Argent Sabre. Pale blue coat with midnight blue mane and tail. Thin, bespectacled, with a fastidiously clean and precise uniform at all times. Cutie mark is a record book with a penknife resting on the cover.
Author's Notes:
I literally explained what this was in the opening. Why are you here.
Get Well Soon
A Tale of Antiquarian, Aura, and the Angry Mob
Central Equestrian Orthopedic Specialists, Recovery Suite 110, Firefly Memorial Hospital
Antiquarian drummed his hoof on the siderail of the gurney, glaring at the far wall as though bland paint job was somehow responsible for his woes. The ire in his bloodshot green eyes was so intense that, had the wall been a living creature, it would almost certainly have been intimidated. As it was, it returned his malignant gaze with the blatant disregard for the disapproval of elders characteristic of inanimate objects and teenagers.
“Sir, you’re glaring at the wall again,” pointed out Aura de Patience.
The stallion did not bother to deign such a preposterous remark with even a glance at his secretary, who was idly flipping through a fashion magazine. “I most certainly am not glaring at the wall, Miss Aura. I am merely intent upon studying its ever facet and must squint in order to do so from this distance.”
Aura merely raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, fine, I’m glaring at the wall. Are you happy?”
“Usually,” she replied, putting aside the magazine. “I have a lot to be happy about, after all. As do you, though you seem more intent upon finding the negative in the situation.” She didn’t say ‘as per usual,’ but he heard it all the same.
“I just think that this is a particularly tasteless and soul-sucking color to paint the wall of a recovery room, especially for patients coming out of surgery,” groused the stallion. “Is that so wrong?”
Aura gave a barely perceptible sigh and tapped the IV running into his leg. “I was under the impression that painkillers were supposed to make you more amicable, not less.”
Antiquarian smirked. “What can I say? I like to buck expectations.”
The mare rolled her eyes, then gave him a sympathetic look. “You’re still in pain, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
She’s known me too long. “Yeah, I am,” he admitted, knowing that denial would get him nowhere.
“And?” she prompted.
“… and… the pain isn’t what’s eating me.” He pulled aside the covers to look at the bandaged leg; the one the doctor had spent the afternoon on. “Intellectually, I’m happy. I know that this pain is temporary, and that I’ll be back on all fours soon enough.”
“What about beyond intellectually?” she prompted when he didn’t elaborate.
Antiquarian sighed. “I hate being laid up. It gives me too much time to think.”
Aura raised her eyebrows “You. Complaining about having too much time to think? Usually you complain about the opposite!”
The stallion chuckled. “Ironic, isn’t it? But you see, dear Aura, the time I crave is not the time I have right now. I need time to think about matters which actually bear contemplation. Art and reason and beauty and Truth.” He gestured to the IV. “But, when I’m confined like this, all I can ever seem to think about is that which scares me. Loss. Failure.” He paused. “The consequences of letting down ponies who need me.” After a moment, he looked up, blinking away moisture in his eyes under the compassionate gaze of his faithful friend. “Silly, I know, but being sick makes me feel like a young colt afraid of the dark; cowering in the nighttime when all things which distract from my fears are stripped away.” Clearing his throat, he wiped his eyes. “Like I said. Too much time.”
Aura leaned forward, putting a comforting hoof on his. “Antiq, you can’t carry around—”
What would no doubt have been a tender moment was interrupted by a knock at the door. Antiquarian smirked, as he often did whenever Miss Patience scowled. “Comedic timing is a double-edged sword, is it not?” he asked jovially.
She ignored him. “Who is it?”
The nurse’s voice answered. “Sorry to disturb you, but the professor has a visitor. He says it’s about work.”
Aura’s frown deepened. “With all respect to this stallion, Professor Antiquarian’s schedule has been cleared for months now and—”
“Aura,” interrupted Antiquarian. “Aura, please. I’m crawling the walls here. A little distraction is just what I need.”
For a moment, he thought the mare would refuse, but she simply sighed and nodded. “As you say, sir.” The doorknob lit up blue with her magic. “All right, he may come in.”
“You’re a gem,” he whispered to her. “I hope you don’t need any papers signed,” he called out to the visitor, “because I’m on enough painkillers to knock out SWEET TAPDANCING CELESTIA!”
Standing there, framed in the doorway, was the dark-coated representative of the Angry Mob – the burly earth pony known simply as ‘Tar.’
I’m trapped! Trapped like a rat in a cage! I always knew I would die on a gurney because of fanfiction! Somehow I just knew!
Antiquarian’s heartrate jumped as he squirmed into the corner of the gurney, vainly putting what little distance he could between himself and the inevitable. My only regret is that I’ll never get the chance to have Jacques throw down with the Sirens in an epic musical—
“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!” barked Aura. Antiquarian’s eyes flicked from the intruder to his secretary, and, in a flash, his fear was transferred. The mare practically had smoke coming out of her ears, and a cold fire burned in her blue eyes. She stood, and Tar took a visible step back from the diminutive mare. “You ponies have a lot of nerve coming here when he’s just had surgery! You’d better have a darned good explanation for harassing him at a time like this, or else I’m going to tattoo his schedule on your face so this never happens again!”
To his credit, Tar did not run from the ferocious secretary. He simply swallowed and pulled a string of balloons into frame. “I come bearing gifts,” he announced, managing to keep the quiver mostly out of his voice. “From the Angry Mob.”
Aura and Antiquarian shared a blink. The latter cleared his throat and asked, “You… wanna run that by me again?”
“The Angry Mob is aware of your surgery, and, of course, you were kind enough to warn us that updates would be delayed. As a token of our appreciation for your diligence in keeping us informed and in the hopes that you will recover speedily, we felt it appropriate to wish you well.”
Antiquarian and Aura exchanged a long glance. For once, she looks as mystified as I do, reflected the aging stallion. Today is certainly a day for the unexpected. “Well, um, that’s rather civilized of you. Please, do come in.” He quirked a smile. “And do step lightly around Miss Aura. Her father was a soldier and a very efficient one at that. I am quite certain that she picked up more than a few of his tricks.”
Tar glanced at Aura as though gauging whether or not Antiquarian was kidding. Her gaze suggested that he was not. “I won’t stay long,” announced the stallion wisely. “I just came to deliver a few gifts.”
“Not booby-trapped, I trust,” said Antiquarian dryly. Beware of mobs bearing gifts, after all.
“Not this time, no,” replied Tar honestly.
“Hm,” grunted Antiquarian, making a note to cast extra security spells on his mail from now on.
“First are the balloons, of course,” began Tar, pulling the decorations in question into view. Now that they were closer, Antiquarian could see that many were red and orange and had fires and pitchforks drawn onto the sides. Some were even in the shape of pitchforks and torches. “And then the card.” A large pink heart read, Get Well Soon… Or Else! “And, finally, the crutch.” He pulled out a rear-leg crutch, decorated with pictures of angry mobs chasing ponies running down the surface. “My daughters decorated it. They’re such talented little fillies.”
Antiquarian had to hold a hoof over his muzzle to hide his expression. “Your… daughters?”
“Yes, my wife, Feather, and I have too little angels,” beamed Tar.
His wife Feather. Boy, I was way off thinking that the ‘Feather’ in the equation would be Tar’s brother. Tar and Feather… talk about an arsonist’s match made in heaven. “They sound charming. What are their names?”
“Pitchfork and Torch.”
“Of course they are.” Could have been worse. Could have been ‘Drawn and Quartered.’ “Well, thanks for stopping by, Tar. This has been rather… decent of all of you. Give my regards to the Angry Mob.”
Tar smiled and dipped his head politely. “I’ll be sure to, sir. You get well soon.” He dipped his head to Aura. “Ma’am.”
“Tar.”
With that, he departed. Antiquarian watched after him for a moment, then picked up the card, reading through the inscription and noting the disturbing number of signatures. The blasted thing has several pages. How long did it take them to get all these?
“That was… rather unexpected,” remarked Aura.
Antiquarian read a passage of the letter aloud. “Please get well soon, as our violent rampages through the city just aren’t the same without you. After all, what is an Angry Mob without its choicest victim.” With a smirk, he straightened the tie he wasn’t wearing. “Did you hear that, Miss Aura? I am their choicest victim.”
“Let’s hope they don’t say that to all the writers,” she deadpanned.
“Aura! You wound me!” he exclaimed in mock horror. “I’m so proud!”
“Yes, sir, you’ve been a terrible influence.” Her face turned more somber, a sympathetic light in her eyes. “Still feeling like you’re letting ponies down?”
Putting aside the card, he picked up the crutch. “Oddly enough, not so much anymore.” With a dry chuckle, he added, “I suppose that goes to show you the mysterious workings of Providence. Sometimes, even our enemies can be exactly what we need to lift our spirits.”
Aura smiled as she reclaimed her chair. “As you say, sir.”
He continued to look at the crutch, taking careful note of the craftsmanship to—
“Antiq?”
“Yes?” he said, looking up to see the kind eyes of his friend.
“Being finite isn’t the same as being a failure. And you’re not the sort to just let ponies down. You know that, don’t you?”
Antiquarian held her gaze for a moment, then nodded, smiling. “I do know that, Aura. I just forget things.” He reached out a hoof to meet hers. “Lucky I’ve got a good friend like you to remind me.”
Aura patted his hoof, then retrieved her magazine. “Any time.”
Author's Notes:
Yeah, so, this happened. To clarify a few things:
1) Yes, I really did have knee surgery, and yes, I wrote this on painkillers. That should explain (and hopefully forgive) a lot. The surgery went well and recovery should be pretty straightforward, but it's never fun and my muse has been fickle while laid up.
2) This was written in part because I'm having a hard time finishing the next chapter of 14th C Friar while in recovery. (The other main reason for the delay was finishing Memoirs of My War for the 100th Anniversary of the end of World War I.
3) This wasn't supposed to get as real as it did, but I really do hate hospitals, illness, and surgery for the reasons outlined. So I wrote it out. Here's a life lesson for you: when you have something that's killing you (in the sense of a personal suffering/trail), work through it by creating something. Life to counter death. I write. Others journal. Others play music. Others chop firewood (hey, productivity is creative and cathartic, especially chopping firewood). Bottom line - don't stew. Do something. Turn it into something else, even something as silly as this.And this is silly. I just hope it amused you and (hopefully) inspired some patience amongst the mob.
Get a Grip!
A 14th Century PSA: Now With 20% More Comedy!
Antiquarian’s study was cleaner than was typical, with its tottering stacks of tomes organized into structurally-sound collections, its desks, chairs, and other accoutrements of academia dusted, and its windows freshly polished. The piles of loose paper that usually festooned the room were filed, the contents of the bookshelves rightly ordered, and the floor swept of pencil shavings, coffee grounds, paper scraps, and all such detritus.
As a rule, such a clean state of existence marked that period of time between when Aura de Patience finished tidying up the space and when Antiquarian blew in like a tornado and destroyed any semblance of order and harmony.
Today, however, the reason was different. Today, Antiquarian had a guest.
Friar Jacques de Charrette felt right at home in Antiquarian’s antiquarian study, save for the fact that he could not seem to adjust the large armchair behind the desk to sit at a comfortable height for his tall human build. Eventually he simply backed the chair away from the desk and set it as high as it would go before talking to the chair’s owner, who stood off to one side. “So I just address the audience directly and the metaphorical camera comes to rest on me?”
Antiquarian glowered at the man. “You should know; you and Song already did this once when you tossed me into the closet to do that PSA on self-care.”
Jacques gave a wintery smile. “Ah, yes. Silly me. I had forgotten.” Swiveling the chair to face the Fourth Wall, he began, “My brothers and sisters, good day, and may Lenten blessings rest upon you. As today is Ash Wednesday and the start of the Lenten Season, I thought it a fitting time to speak on the spiritual and practical benefits of an oft-neglected practice: Fasting.” With a slight smile, he held up a hand to forestall the movement of the readers who were scrambling to close out the window and look for something else to occupy their time. “Rest-assured, I shall endeavor to make this a timely and interesting little jaunt for you, even those of you who are not religious. After all, the practice of Fasting is used by therapists, personal trainers, health care professionals, and many more besides on a daily basis. If you will indulge me, I think you will find this informative, and perhaps quite fruitful if you are open to it.”
He gestured to Antiquarian with a gnarled hand. “My esteemed author was kind enough to allow me to once more use his study to address you, on the grounds that, oh, how did you put it again?”
“On the grounds that I feel terrible about what I plan on doing to you in future chapters and this is my way of begging forgiveness,” admitted Antiquarian with a guilty look on his disheveled features.
“Yes, that,” smiled Jacques. “So, without further ado, let us examine the principle of Fasting.”
“Wheee,” grumbled Antiquarian unenthusiastically.
Jacques shot him a reproving glance. “Heckling is unbecoming, Antiquarian.”
“Never stops my readers.”*
“Fasting,” asserted Jacques, pushing past the interruption, “is generally thought of in this day-and-age as an unfortunate imposition forced upon people by religious structures in order to restrict their lives for the sake of piety. It is a view which, sadly, is even held by many people within said religious structures who were never taught the actual purpose behind Fasting and were simply expected to do it.” He shook his head slowly. “A sad statement on the quality of instruction provided by many clergy, but I digress. Fasting is a great deal more nuanced than this stereotype, and is in fact centrally about freedom rather than confinement.”
Antiquarian spoke up, his voice sounding phoned-in and sarcastic. “But, Friar Jacques, how can a thing that tells me I can’t do something possibly be about freedom?”
Jacques gave the pony an odd look, raising one eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
In his normal voice, the writer answered, “I’m playing the part of generic hypothetical questioner to set you up for the next part of your lesson while simulating audience involvement to prevent them from getting bored.”
The friar blinked. “Oh. Well. That… makes sense I suppose. Only…” he scratched his head, “why do you sound so disinterested?”
“Well, maybe I’m just a little bored because I’d like to be working but I can’t because you’re SITTING AT MY FREAKING DESK!”
Jacques gave him a long look that suggested that he wasn’t convinced of Antiquarian’s mental stability before resuming. “Riiiight… well, in any case, allow me to explain. In order to understand Fasting, we must first understand its etymology.”
Antiquarian feigned shock. “Wow. I just felt thirty readers leave the moment you said ‘etymology.’”
“Oh, dear Antiq,” laughed Jacques, “this is a supplement; there weren’t thirty readers to begin with.”
“Touché.”
“Rather than boring you with the entire etymology, suffice it to say that the Old English and Germanic origins of the word referred not to speed, but to holding strong. The original Old English term ‘Fast’ was related to standing tall, holding onto something, or keeping a firm grip. This definition remains in such modern turns of phrase as ‘hold fast.’”
“Huh,” remarked Antiquarian thoughtfully. “That wasn’t nearly as boring as I thought it would be. Tell me more.”
Jacques raised an eyebrow. “Are you being the stand-in for the audience again, or are you just being difficult?”
“Eh,” shrugged the stallion. “Po-ta-to, po-tah-to.”
Rolling his eyes, the friar continued. “Thus, one might think of Fasting as ‘holding fast’ on matters of self-mastery and personal betterment. Or, to render it in modern parlance, ‘getting a grip’ on yourself.”
“But what does this have to do with freedom?” asked Aura de Patience.
Both males jumped slightly at her sudden presence. “When did you get here?” demanded Antiquarian.
“I can’t get any work done with you two doing this, so I thought I’d come help be the audience, since you’re clearly being moody.”
Before Antiquarian could snap back a retort, Jacques reclaimed the narrative. “I’m so glad you asked that, hypothetical audience member who’s more polite than the last one.” Antiquarian glared, but the friar ignored him. “Consider the following scenario: a man struggles with the vice of laziness. He sits on his couch watching Netflix, knowing full well that he could be doing something more productive with his time, or at least engaging in a past-time more engaging and edifying than the mediocre show he’s watching. Instead of turning off the TV, however, or at least changing the proverbial channel, he simply lets the countdown run out before the next episode starts and continues to indulge in binge-watching.”
Aura raised an eyebrow. “That sounded like a… very specific example.”
Jacques smirked. “That would be because whenever Antiquarian is on assignment to the human world, he is subject to this particular vice.”
The stallion in question flushed bright red. Aura regarded him thoughtfully. “That would explain why you’re always behind on your work when you get back into town.”
Antiquarian pointed an accusing hoof at Jacques. “You’re on thin ice, Friar. I’m still your writer.”
“Oh, what are you going to do?” mocked Jacques. “Kill all my brother monks again? As the kids say, ‘bring it.’”
“Why did I write you like this?”
Aura sighed. “Could we get back on track please?”
“Of course,” nodded Jacques. “Now, we are all creatures of habit, which can be a good thing or a bad thing depending on the circumstances. In the case of this binge-watcher, it’s a bad thing. He thinks he’s exercising his freedom by choosing to watch another episode, but the truth is the opposite. Is he ‘free’ the next day when he’s behind on his work? Is he ‘free’ when he realizes that he’s behind on his hobby projects that bring him far more joy than the mediocre show he’s watching? Is he ‘free’ when he can’t even select a more edifying show because that would require too much effort? Of course not! He’s enslaved to his vices and fails to live up to his full potential.”
“The horror!” exclaimed Aura, throwing a hoof to her brow in a manner that would have made Rarity proud. The two males stared. “What, too much?”
“Just a skosh,” said Antiquarian.
“It is horrible, though,” agreed Jacques. “The fact that we can be unable to control ourselves even in something as trifling as our evening entertainment should give us pause. The good news, however, is that our habitual nature can work to our favor just as easily. Consider the same scenario with the following twist: the same man has been Fasting of late. Nothing major – just limiting his sugar intake to one dessert a day, cutting out snacking, and eating more fiber. Perhaps he’s doing it for religious reasons; perhaps he’s trying to drop those extra pounds; perhaps he’s trying to set a good example for his kids.”
“Perhaps he wants to be more regular,” volunteered Antiquarian.
“Something we should all aspire to,” replied Jacques solemnly. “Whatever the case, he’s feeling a little bit healthier because of his food intake, and a little more confident because he knows that he is capable of saying ‘no’ to his impulses. Now, when he sees that episode counter clicking down to the next episode, he knows that he’s not subject to saying ‘yes’ to every little whim that crosses his mind, and he has the self-control needed to turn off the TV and go work on something else.”
Jacques tapped his fingers on the desk in rhythm to his words. “Note what just happened. Because this man was able to say ‘no’ to himself, he became more free than he was before. He reclaimed his agency by making his activities a matter of deliberate choice rather than a matter of impulse, and he was able to do it because he developed a habit of self-control in an area that wasn’t even directly related to the bad habit that he actually needed to break.”
“I’ve heard about this,” interjected Aura. “If I may, Friar,” he nodded and she continued, “twelve-step support groups for people trying to kick addictions to things like alcohol and pornography often recommend that the participants also do things like Fasting from certain foods, shows, or other passive and semi-passive pleasures because it helps rewire the brain to be accustomed to decision-making rather than acting on impulse.”
“On top of which,” added Antiquarian, “it emboldens and ennobles the spirit to prize one’s personal betterment, and the betterment of those around oneself, over the immediate pleasures of everyday life.” The other two gave him surprised looks, and he gruffly remarked, “What? Just because I’m a smart-aleck doesn’t mean I don’t care about the message here.”
Jacques nodded appreciatively. “Freedom is often misrepresented as being the ability to do what one wants, but this is a false definition. After all, an addict wants the drugs he’s addicted to, but one would be hard-pressed to find anyone more enslaved than he. By contrast, people who are capable of making the right choices, the ones which shall allow them to be the best that they can be, are truly free, even if they must choose disciplines and rules to achieve this. Consider two athletes – one who plays by the rules, trains, and sacrifices certain pleasures to be fit and well-trained; the other, by contrast, eats whatever he wants, refuses to train, and ignores the rules. Which of them will be the freer player on the field? I tell you that the first, who subordinated his or her immediate desires for a higher goal, will be the greater athlete, while the second, who was flippant, will spend a great deal of time on the bench, if they are allowed to remain on the team at all.”
Antiquarian nodded, casting a fond glance at Aura. “Miss Aura isn’t a great secretary because she organizes my office however she wants; she’s a great secretary because she organizes it, and me, the way that I need to succeed.”
“And Antiquarian is more free to pursue his life’s calling when there’s a proper order and control to his life,” added Aura. “In a sense he ‘Fasts’ from the lax behaviors of just throwing things wherever he pleases out of laziness or putting off work to indulge in some pleasure.”
He smirked. “And she can help me get back on track whenever I don’t do it myself. Accountability helps.”
“There’s nothing wrong with taking pleasure in food, drink, and entertainment,” clarified Jacques. “All these things are gifts from God and a natural part of the world. However, if pleasure comes at the expense of that which is more important in life, we swiftly find ourselves losing control and, by extension, losing ourselves. Denying oneself in little ways frees us to be able to choose the best things for ourselves.”
“To pursue our special talents and vocations without distraction,” volunteered Antiquarian.
“And to help others to find the freedom to do it themselves as well,” said Aura.
Jacques spread his hands, palms open. “Saint Irenaeus once said that ‘the Glory of God is Man fully alive.’ Even if one isn’t religious, I believe that there is still great wisdom to be found in this statement. People are capable of incredible things when we are allowed to reach our full potential. Things which inhibit this pursuit, even if they are not bad in and of themselves, are hindrances upon the road to happiness and fulfillment. Fasting is, among other things related to penance and prayer for religious persons, a ready means of pursuing our own freedom by disciplining the body and spirit to have the control to choose aright how we shall spend our time.”
Antiquarian winked. “And, if you fast with friends, you can enjoy the sweet, sweet pleasure of making them suffer with you.” Jacques gave him a frosty look and Aura nudged him. “Oh, um, and you can enjoy the benefits of having an accountability partner and the mutual benefits which you both reap. Or something.”
Chuckling at the stallion’s antics, Jacques addressed the Fourth Wall. “We hope that you have all found something of merit in this little chapter, whatever your beliefs. May God bless you and your endeavors.” His lesson concluded, Jacques turned to his host. “Thank you kindly for letting me do this.”
“You’re welcome,” said Antiquarian warmly. “Now GET OUT OF MY CHAIR!”
*I love you please don’t hurt me 
Author's Notes:
...
What do you want from me? I just did that entire chapter in-character!
...
You can go now...
Her Type
Author's Notes:
A couple chapters back, Pinkie casually mentioned that Rainbow was ‘stalking’ Marble Slab to Rarity. The fashionista didn’t immediately notice the mention (because it came in the middle of a hardcore Pinkie-ing). When she did she naturally wanted details, but she quickly gave up trying to get them from Pinkie because I just wanted the chapter to be done and wasn’t really thinking about it I didn’t want to side-track the story too much and I felt it plausible that Rarity would give up trying to get a straight answer out of Pinkie and would resort to other means of gathering intel. When folks commented on my oversight Rarity’s calculated delay in gathering intel, I decided to work something in later on.
Then I realized there’s no way Rarity would wait the near two-week period between ‘First Lessons Part 3’ and ‘On the Theory and Application of Violence’ to gather information on the suspected love life of one of her closest gal pals. If all else failed, she’d probably just booby trap some Wonderbolts memorabilia and drag her captive off for interrogation.
Thus, I figured I’d write up this chapter since the current main story is stuck in limbo afflicted with a writer’s block the size of Detroit coming along about as well as sandpapering my tongue to clean it taking longer than expected. Consider this the first fully-canonical side arc to the main story, with a bonus commentary on some of the themes that I accidentally added deliberately wove into the conclusion. It takes place perhaps a day after Rarity and Pinkie visited the hospital and right before Rainbow and Applejack begin training. Our scene opens in Carousel Boutique…
Rarity’s life had always had a certain measure of shock and surprise. This, in and of itself, was neither shocking nor surprising. After all, every pony has some unexpected things happen now and again; it would be more unexpected if she didn’t.
With that said, Rarity’s life had become considerably more eventful following the Nightmare Moon Incident. She had always been friendly enough with the other girls (sans Twilight, of course), but it was a dramatic change for her to become so close to five other mares that they were essentially sisters in all but blood. The bonds she’d forged with them were akin to those forged by soldiers in combat – that particular closeness whereby a pony might walk through fire to protect a pony whom she might otherwise have little to nothing in common with. Such closeness had given her insight into why so many ponies made a career out of the military. After all, to share such depth with other ponies, to the point that six mares might poetically be said to share one beating heart, was more than worth all the brushes with death she’d had in the past few years.
Bonds of this nature are not lightly forged, however. Quite literally overnight, Rarity’s life had shifted from that of a normal pony to that of a normal pony who regularly stared down death to save the lives of ponies she would never meet. These days, it was not uncommon for her to be interrupted in the midst of sewing with whatever catastrophe loomed on that particular day. Such surprise disasters had simply become a part of the weekly routine (as much as surprises can become routine, of course). When it came to being friends with Twilight Sparkle, Spike, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, and Fluttershy, shock and awe came with the territory.
This was not to say that life-and-death scenarios were the only changes to her routine, however, or even the only source of surprises as related to her friends. Quite the opposite, in fact. Most interactions she had with them were of the mundane and harmless variety, and they frequently began with one of her friends dropping by unannounced. Even as commonplace as such visits became, there was still an element of shock present in them that kept her on her hooves.
All of which was a very long way of saying that Rarity nearly jumped out of her skin when Rainbow Dash unexpectedly uttered the word “‘sup” directly behind her.
“Rainbow Dash!” shrieked Rarity, spilling her sewing supplies across her desk in shock. “Sweet Celestia, darling, I nearly jumped out of my skin!”
“Sorry,” smirked Rainbow Dash, who, in truth, did not look particularly sorry. It might have been the smirk. “I just need a favor real quick.”
Rarity huffed and began magically collecting her scattered materials. “Well, after scaring the living daylights out of me, I’m not entirely sure that I want to grant such a favor.” She made a great show of returning to her work.
Rainbow groaned behind her. “Come on, Rarity. I wasn’t even trying to startle you this time. I just need some thread that matches my flight suit so I can fix this stupid tear in it.” She waved the garment in question in the air. “I want it to be in one piece before I practice maneuvers with Marble. Just point me to the right blue and I’ll be out of your mane.”
The mention of Marble Slab brought a certain gleam to Rarity’s eye. She had not yet found the time to follow up on Pinkie’s rather… intriguing remark the previous day. And now Rainbow presents herself to me on a silver platter. Perfection! Careful not to show her excitement, the fashionista cast a laconic glance over her shoulder, feigning irritation. “Well, I suppose I could assist you in that regard. Far be it from me to let a friend be improperly attired, annoying though she may be.”
“Thanks, Rarity!” beamed Rainbow. “You’re a lifesaver!”
“Well, I do strive to be useful,” remarked Rarity as she magically summoned several spools of thread from the nearby shelf, carefully comparing them to the ripped flight suit that Dash carried on one hoof. The dozen colors she selected were actually just a diversion; she knew from a number of Wonderbolt-inspired commissions which blue was required, but she didn’t want to just hoof the thread over and let Rainbow dash off before she’d sussed out the matter of Marble. “I suppose you’ll need my assistance in repairing the damage?”
“Naw,” replied the pegasus. “I’ll just stitch it up when I get home.” Rarity stopped pretending to compare colors and simply stared at her friend. “What?”
Rarity blinked, “N-nothing darling, it’s just… well…” Rainbow raised an eyebrow, “… I suppose I’m a little surprised that you found the time to work learning to sew into your, ahem, busy schedule.”
Rainbow snorted. “Yeah, well, you can thank the military for that. We’re supposed to be able to maintain our kit, which makes sense, but that also happens to include our uniforms. Fortunately, I’m awesome at it,” she preened. Rarity raised an eyebrow. “W-well,” faltered Dash, “I’m not as awesome with it as I am with other things, like, you know, actually flying.” The eyebrow raised further. “I mean… I get the job done, ya know?” Rarity’s raised eyebrow reached Applejack levels of silent disbelief. “Okay, I can’t sew to save my life,” admitted Rainbow.
“Then I’d be happy to help you, darling,” said Rarity, the warmth of her smile hiding her glee that she’d now have plenty of time to interrogate her friend. “Well, this color looks to match it quite well. As for the tear… hmm… that’s quite a rip. It’ll take some time to fix it.” ‘Some time’ being an appropriately vague term.
“Ugh!” moaned Rainbow. “Seriously? Can’t you just magic it back together?”
Rarity summoned a needle and set to work. “Not if you want it looking good as new for Marble.” Rainbow huffed and nodded. “So… you’re eager to see him, then?”
Rainbow blinked. “Well, yeah. Guy’s gonna show me some combat maneuvers we didn’t really cover in the Bolts. Different kinds of squadrons, ya know?”
“Well, that ought to be fun,” said Rarity as she repaired the garment. “He seems a rather pleasant stallion. Well-mannered. Dutiful.”
“I guess,” shrugged Rainbow.
“He’s rather fast as well, as I recall. Something you rather prize,” prodded Rarity.
“Sure,” agreed Rainbow blandly.
It took effort for Rarity to keep the annoyance off her face. “Do you have plans for… after you practice?”
The pegasus gave Rarity an odd look. “You feeling okay?”
“Whatever do you mean, darling?”
“You’re doing that… thing,” replied Rainbow, gesturing vaguely with a forehoof. “That thing where your voice gets all funky with where you’re putting emphasis because you’re saying one thing and meaning another thing.”
Rarity sputtered. “W-why I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, darling!”
Rainbow gave her an ‘I-don’t-buy-it’ look. “Come on, Rarity. I haven’t had my mid-morning nap and I’m not picking up what you’re laying down. What are you after?”
Her friend’s inability to read the nuance of the conversation left Rarity so vexed that she had to stop sewing to respond. Heaving a sigh, she exclaimed, “Fine, Rainbow Dash! If you want to take all the fun out of it, I was asking after your interest in Marble.” Rainbow stared at her blankly. Surely even she’s not that dense! She was about to speak even more plainly (and far less politely) when Rainbow’s pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” cried the pegasus, backpedaling so hard she took flight and hovered. “I’m not— he’s not even— no! Just, no!”
Rarity giggled. “Oh, Rainbow, there’s no need to be so coy. It’s quite natural for you to take interest in a fit young military stallion.”
“Rarity, I didn’t— he’s married, Rarity!”
That bombshell stopped Rarity cold. She blinked rapidly as the information settled in, and by the time it was done all she could manage was, “Oh.”
Having gained control of the conversation, Dash continued. “Yeah, married three years with two little foals zippin’ around and another on the way. He’s not exactly on the market.”
“Mm,” remarked Rarity with pursed lips. “So you weren’t—”
“No, Rarity, I didn’t make a fool of myself asking him out,” said Rainbow flatly. “Heck I wasn’t even interested. Where’d you even get that idea?”
Rarity sighed and went back to work. “Pinkie Pie, darling. In her defense, she did see you stalking him.” She paused sewing to look at Rainbow in confusion. “Why were you stalking him, if not out of romantic interest?”
“Hey! There are plenty of good reasons to stalk a stallion!” Silence followed Dash’s statement. After a moment, the mare put a hoof to her face. “Okay, that didn’t come out how I meant it.”
“I’m sure,” smirked Rarity, resuming the stitching. “So, you had some innocuous and boring reason for pursuing him?”
“Eeyup,” said Rainbow in a passable impression of Big Mac, made all the more impressive by her much higher vocal range. “Even if he was single, he’s not my type.”
Rarity sighed, her hopes of mare-talk with one of her closest friends dashed. “Well, that’s fair I suppose.” She was about to remark on the sewing when Rainbow’s words sank in. “Just why isn’t he ‘your type,’ Rainbow? I thought you liked athletic pegasi stallions.”
She was careful to keep her eyes on the flight suit and Rainbow on her peripherals as she asked, so that Rainbow wouldn’t feel as put on the spot. It was well she did, for the blue mare flushed at the question. “Well… I do… like athletic stallions I mean… he’s just… not my type is all. Not really what I’m looking for.”
“But why isn’t he your type, darling? Something in his personality? His mannerisms?”
“No, not that. He’s just… not my type.”
“Well, what is it that disqualifies him from being your type?”
Dash hovered anxiously, biting her lip. “Well it’s… he’s not… I’d like a guy who…” Her face now approached Big Mac’s in color.
Rarity looked up over her sewing glasses. “Yes?” she prompted.
Rainbow screwed her eyes shut, landed, sucked in a breath, and exclaimed, “Hestooshort.”
Rarity blinked, not sure she’d heard right. “I beg your pardon?”
“He’s too short,” said Rainbow at a more normal speed. “I don’t like stallions who are shorter than me.”
Once more, a silence hung over the room. “O-okay,” said Rarity slowly. “To each their own, I suppose. May I ask why?”
Rainbow’s color was now in the ballpark of ‘crimson’ as she looked away in shame. “You’d think it’s silly.”
The fashionista snorted. “Darling, you forget that I once had a crush on Blueblood of all ponies! I’m the last pony to be able to lecture you on your taste in stallions!”
With a shaky chuckle, Rainbow replied, “Well, I guess that’s true. You…” she winced, “you promise you won’t laugh, or tell the others?”
“Pinkie Promise,” replied Rarity solemnly. Then, a touch manically, she hissed, “Now spill, darling!”
“Well… okay,” sighed Rainbow. “Here goes. The truth is… I want to be the cuddlee.” Rarity had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at infamously ‘tough’ and ‘cool’ Rainbow Dash expressing that she wanted to be the ‘cuddlee,’ which left her unable to ask what in the hay Rainbow meant. Fortunately, it seemed that the admission had opened the floodgates, as Rainbow was soon almost tripping over her words explaining. “Look, I’m the greatest flier Equestria’s ever seen, the Bearer of Loyalty, the, like, six-time savior of Equestria and however-many-times savior of however-many-places-in-it, and all this other totally radical stuff and… well… I happen to want a strong, masculine stallion who’s big enough to cuddle me and not the other way around.” Now that she’d finished, she stared forward with a defiant look on her face, as though daring the world to laugh at her. “Yeah.”
Rarity was taken aback by the outburst to say the least, but she couldn’t keep an amused smile off her face. “Oh, Rainbow Dash, there’s nothing wrong with that! There’s no rulebook that says you have to find every variety of stallion attractive. That would be silly! And there’s certainly no rulebook saying that you’re any less awesome, radical, strong, and independent just because you want the feel of a big, strong stallion’s forelimbs around you!” She chuckled. “If we were diminished simply by being in the presence of other ponies who surpass us in some specific way, then being friends with Twilight would mean that we were all idiots, being friends with Pinkie would mean that we were all humorless, and being friends with Fluttershy would mean that we were all sociopaths by comparison.”
Rainbow let out a deep breath. “So, you don’t think it’s weird?”
“Not at all darling,” Rarity assured her. “And why should I find it weird? That’d be as ridiculous as comparing myself to Fashion Plate and saying that I’m less of a pony just because I don’t know as much about running fashion shows, even though I’m quite well-versed in them myself and have a talent in fashion design that he lacks. To regard the excellence of others as a threat is a sign of insecurity, not strength. By contrast, to desire a mate who exceeds us in one capacity or another is a sign of confidence and self-assurance, not weakness.”
“Whoa,” said Rainbow, blinking. “When you put it like that, it sounds pretty cool. And,” she scratched the back of her head with one hoof, “I guess it makes sense. I mean, Marble showed me pictures of his wife, and, lemme tell ya, she’s got like a foot on him and is built like she could throw AJ around. But he’s not threatened by that. He’s strong and he knows it. Whether she’s bigger or stronger than him doesn’t matter.”
Rarity gave a satisfied smile. “Precisely, darling.”
Rainbow chuckled. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I had a rip in my suit, or else I woulda just kept worrying about that.” She glanced at the clock. “But, seriously, how much longer will this take.”
“Oh, I finished ages ago, darling. I was just pretending to work on it so that you’d spill the beans.”
“… you’re the worst.”
Rarity beamed. “You know you love me.”
“Shut up and give me my suit.”
Deleted Scene - Stand Firm
Author's Notes:
Back when I was originally scripting Stand Tall (where Friar Jacques goes to fight the timber wolves) there was going to be a brief scene wherein Song analyzed the situation after his vanishing act and, just to be safe, ordered the ponies to armor up. What I liked about the scene was that it showed Song's tactical awareness as well as her ability to read people and predict their reasoning. It also showed her taking command and served to drive home the point that, while Fritters might be the best fighter and Marble the best scout, there's a reason she's in command.
I ended up scrapping the scene because that chapter really needed to focus on Friar Jacques. Much as I would have loved to show more of Song (even for such a brief scene), it would not have served the story to leave it in that chapter - it would have distracted from Friar Jacques, and I couldn't justify doing that.
Hope you enjoy this unpolished deleted scene. You might well see some EqG fun in the semi-near future.
The announcement that Jacques had gone missing was greeted with great dismay by all present. Rarity exclaimed how positively dangerous it was that the old man was wandering about at night, and Fluttershy whimpered how scary it is to be lost in the woods. Applejack and Twilight alternated worst-case scenarios, ranging from falling in a ditch to taking a tumble down a ravine to an uncontrolled magical surge. Pinkie and Rainbow loudly called for a rescue party while Big Mac wordlessly reached for the emergency lanterns. Marble had to restrain them from running off immediately and Fritters was attempting, with little success, to calm down Applejack and the others.
Which left Morning Song to silently ponder the situation.
Realistically, he could just be going out for a walk. Taking his sword is not, by itself, necessarily significant. Many soldiers like to go about armed, and, depending on the nature of his nightmare, it might be simply a matter of comfort.
She grimaced and rubbed her chin. However, the suspicious nature of the dream and the fact that the Shades are on the table means we can’t just dismiss this as the rash actions of an old soldier battling his nightmares. The lieutenant glanced around the room. And, with the Bearers present, we can’t afford to take too many chances. Better to ready ourselves, just in case.
“Boss?”
Song looked up to see Marble looking at her with a beseeching look. The short stallion had his hooves full trying to keep a search party from running half-cocked into the night. Time to put a stop to that.
There’s a certain art to making yourself heard over a panicking group without shouting. As a vocalist, a therapist, and an officer, Song had practiced that art for the almost three decades. “Quiet,” she commanded.
Ponies are herd animals by nature, and often revert to those instincts in moments of crisis as a survival mechanism. Nine heads turned to face her as conversation stopped. Good.
“Fritters and Marble, begin a close search of the inner grounds. Expand your search if needed. If you pick up his trail, send a runner back before following,” she ordered. Saluting in acknowledgement, both stallions slipped out. “Flight Officer Dash?” Rainbow Dash came to attention. “Retrieve your gear from the barn and slot yourself into their SAR pattern once you’re combat ready.”
“Yes, ma’am!” cried Dash, vanishing in a blur.
Twilight frowned. “Why does she need her—?”
Song didn’t pause to answer. “Applejack, get into your rig and grab mine while you’re at it.” She addressed the remaining mares and Big Mac. “The rest of us will meet you in the barn.”
Applejack blinked rapidly as she processed the commands. “Um, sure thing, Song,” she said, dashing upstairs.
Twilight opened her mouth to ask the obvious question, but Song brushed past her, making her way to the barn. “Talk while we move, Miss Sparkle. We don’t have time to lose.”
“Wait, Song, what are we—” Twilight had to run to catch the briskly trotting mare. “Morning Song, wait! Why are you telling everypony to get armored up?”
Song quirked a humorless smile. “Simple, Twilight. In this line of work, the ponies who plan for the worst live the longest.”
Lore Expansion - The Fourteen-Leafed Clover
Author's Notes:
Sorry to those of you who got excited thinking this was the first of the long-promised EqG/14th C shorts. Soon on that. Really.
The following will constitute a canonical lore expansion for A 14th Century Friar, though it is unlikely to come up except by reference in the story.
“The first Clover the Clever.”
I’ll be honest, when I first wrote in ‘Training Day’ that there was more than one Clover, I didn’t think too much about it. At one point I came across an author (I don’t remember who) who had multiple Clovers in the fic, an idea that I really liked. I just put it in for a little flavor and forgot about it.
Then FanOfMostEverything had the gall to make what was (to me) a humorous and intriguing remark.
The first Clover the Clever? How many were there? Given what we've seen of his study in the comics, I can't help but imagine Star Swirl going through them like Batman through Robins.
Dangit, Fan!
The idea took hold and wouldn’t let go until I wrote it out. What follows below is the canonical backstory of the many Clovers for the three of my readers who care. Blame Fan for this.
(Edit: Why the heck is this featured?)
There were fourteen mares and stallions to bear the name ‘Clover the Clever,’ though only a few had ‘Clover’ as a given name.
The first was an orphaned unicorn stallion, shortly after reaching maturity, became apprentice the then young (and beardless) Starswirl. In those days of wild uncertainty, corruption was rife and warfare an ever-present reality for the disunified tribes. Starswirl, who had little patience for tribal politics, embarked on a quest of advancing the cause of all ponykind through science, cooperation between the races, and magic, a path which brought him and Clover into constant contact with all threeTribes.
In those days, Starswirl was not the bitter stallion he would ultimately become, and rather cheerfully accepted Clover’s help, considering him both friend and research partner. A third role, that of comrade-in-arms, would be added as their work took them increasingly into places wherein corruption dominated and the law was not always the ally of justice. Sometimes legally, sometimes not, the two companions became somewhat accidental heroes, and their fame spread throughout the land.
Clover was never Starswirl’s equal in magical acumen, but he was bright enough, and crafty enough, to keep up, even showing up his mentor and friend now and then. He was also much more personable than the sometimes aloof and distracted Starswirl (to whom social niceties were often an ‘unnecessary delay’).
The adventure that earned Clover the title ‘Clever’ came during a time when Starswirl was incapacitated. A wicked mage had been using a dangerous artifact which could remove the memories of the targets. Clover pursued this criminal to a distant world and succeeded in ensuring that the artifact would never again plague Equestria, though he was unable to apprehend the culprit or destroy the artifact. Ironically, due to the effects of the memory stone, both he and Starswirl forgot about the entire incident until many months later when they came across some of Clover’s notes from that time. Piecing together what had happened, the elated Starswirl praised his partner and dubbed him ‘the Clever.’
During one of their adventures wherein the local captain of the guard (an honorable stallion) was unjustly accused of murder, they were aided in their struggle by the captain’s daughter – a brave and intelligent mare named Firelight. After winning the day and clearing her father’s name, Firelight would join their adventures, proving to be an equal partner.
Though the trio proved to be a formidable force and their friendship ran deep, eventually rifts began to form, mostly due to Starswirl’s obstinacy and single-mindedness. It came to a head when Clover and Firelight announced their intention to marry and settle down, thus leaving Starswirl’s mission behind. Starswirl, for his part, could not comprehend how anypony could forsake the dream of a united ponykind for any reason, even love. Harsh words were exchanged, and Starswirl became estranged from the couple.
That would change when the Minotaur King invaded the Unicorn lands. Unwilling to let their old friend face the threat alone, Clover and Firelight returned to aid him in battle. They won the day, but Clover was mortally wounded. As he lay dying, he and Starswirl finally reconciled.
Starswirl would be forever haunted by the death of his friend and their long separation.
Even in his grief, however, he would not abandon his quest for a better Equestria. After seeing to it that Firelight (who was revealed to be pregnant with Clover’s child) would be taken care of, he threw himself back into his work, becoming even more obsessive and obstinate than before. He retreated to seclusion in hidden towers and laboratories, leaving only for field work.
One day, Starswirl returned to one of these concealed bases to find it being burglarized by a young unicorn stallion who had managed to bypass the magical defenses. Annoyed by the intrusion, but intrigued by the pony’s skill, he captured the burglar and asked his name. The pony gave it as ‘Clover.’
Why Starswirl did what he did next is still a matter of debate. Some say it was projection; some say it was a sense of guilt; some say it was simply that he felt sorry for the colt; some say he was desperate for a companion who could keep up with him. Whatever the case, Starswirl the Bearded took the second Clover the Clever under his proverbial wing.
In many ways, the second Clover proved even more talented a pupil and partner than his predecessor, with a greater knack for combat magic and the creative application thereof.
There were other differences, however. Where the first Clover had been easy-going, generous, and genial, an honest pony who broke the law unwillingly and had an earnest belief in justice, the second Clover was much more cynical. And sly. He was talented at reading and manipulating social cues, yes, but often did so for selfish or vengeful ends.
He also shared Starswirl’s obsessive tendencies. At first, Starswirl saw this as a blessing, as he would not have to worry about his partner stepping off the path. What he failed to consider was the dark turn their path would take.
Clover the Second grew bitter at the slow pace of their mission. He believed that extreme measures were needed to correct the many ills of ponykind and proposed Dark Magic to accomplish their goals. When Starswirl vehemently rejected this course of action, Clover did it in secret, and soon fell into Darkness.
The first overt signs of trouble came when several corrupt nobles of the Unicorn Kingdom were killed. Soon, similar killings happened in the Earth and Pegasi Tribes. All the killings bore the same magical signature. Starswirl, worried that about the prospect of a dark mage of such skill on the loose and fearful that the killings threatened the tenuous peace between the Tribes, made hunting down the perpetrator his sole mission.
He caught the killer in the tunnels beneath Drakestooth Mountain. To his horror, the killer proved to be Clover the Clever.
There were no witnesses to their confrontation. All that is known for certain is that Starswirl emerged after an hour of bitter fighting with the corpse of one he had thought of as a son.
The first Clover’s death had left Starswirl vulnerable. The second left him cold. He came to see attachment as a weakness – a distraction at best and a liability at worst, an impediment to his reasoning. He still labored for a brighter world, but there was little brightness left in him. If a hard pony was needed to safeguard ponykind, then so be it. He would be that hard pony.
Those to whom Starswirl still showed any warmth in those days were precious few: only Firelight and her daughter… the third Clover.
Starswirl’s relationship with the young mare Clover was a difficult one. He was afraid of showing her affection, lest he lose her like her father, and he was hesitant to pass onto her his passion, lest it turn dark like her father’s successor. Instead, their relationship was that of master and student, with his words strict and his lessons hard. He praised little and demanded much. Where the other Clovers had been partners in his work, the third was not. While Starswirl ranged the pony lands far and wide, Clover was assigned to the Court of the Unicorn King, to do what she could to further his vision there.
Clover bore all this with good grace. Her mother had taught her well of the tragedies of Starswirl, and she treated him with such patience that, at times, he would forget his professional distance, and a familial warmth would light his cold face.
Ironically, it was in the Court of the Unicorn King, where Starswirl had sent her in part to keep her from becoming too deeply involved in his work, that she would help bring his dreams to fulfillment. Clover the Clever, against the objections of many prominent nobles, earned the patronage of Princess Platinum and became her personal Mage and Steward. This placed her in a position to journey to the lands that would become Equestria along with the Princess. There, she and the Founders overcame the windigos, forged an alliance between the Three Tribes, ended the long feuds, and founded the great pony nation of Equestria.
When Starswirl heard what she had done, he is said to have wept for joy.
The pair would labor for decades to build a stable Equestria, with Starswirl forming the Pillars to guard its citizens and Clover’s wisdom guiding the government. When Starswirl found young Celestia and Luna and saw in them the potential to bring lasting peace to the newborn realm, it was often Clover who cared for them when he was away.
She was also one of the only ponies in whom the enigmatic Starswirl ever confided his fears, his dreams, and his hopes for the two sisters who would become Equestria’s defenders and leaders in the ages to come. When he vanished, she continued to fight for his dream of a great Equestria.
Clover would not live to see the ascension of Celestia and Luna to the throne, as she passed away not many years after Starswirl and the Pillars disappeared. The hard work of founding a nation and guiding it in its infancy had taken a severe toll on her, and, though the youngest of the Founders, she was one of the first to die, following only Pansey, who gave her life in defense of the innocent during the First Equestria-Griffonstone War.
The legacy of Clover would live on in her daughter, a mare originally named Somber Rain, who was given the title ‘Clover the Clever’ upon her mother’s death. This began the tradition that Archmage of the House of Clover would always take on the name ‘Clover the Clever’ and bear it so long as they held the role.
For generations the Clovers served the throne faithfully, long after Luna’s banishment and into the Golden Age of Equestria. The fourteenth Clover the Clever would give her life in defense of that Golden Age during the Sangbleu Rebellion, dying to kill the rebel leader – a stallion who, tragically, was her own husband.
As the fourteenth Clover had no children, and House Clover had never been blessed with many children, the line is thought to have ended with her, though there is some speculation that the bloodline may have survived through one of the other family relations farther back in the lineage. The most likely would have been the unicorn soldier Dawn Watch, brother to the ninth Clover the Clever, who is known to have had at least two children. However, this has never been proven, and the entire matter remains a matter of lively scholarly debate.
Of Statecraft and Koniks
Author's Notes:
The first segment here (which cuts off abruptly) was the original opening to the chapter 'Two Steps Forward, One Step Back,' as it was going to come from Celestia's perspective. I elected to do it from Luna's, but included this to give a better idea of some of the MPs personalities. Before commenting on the politics, please read the rules in the following supplement chapter (or at the footnote to the main chapter)
Fritters' segment relates, in brief, this history of Konikland, which is a hearty reference to Poland (and the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth). Konikland has fared far better than Poland as far as loyal allies go, so they've avoided the Partitionings, and the Western Betrayal, and the Western Betrayal Act II at Yalta. For more on the tragedy and heroism of Poland, read here. Also, I hope I didn't butcher the Polish that Fritters uses, so if there are any Polish speakers out there please check my work.
Celestia was ancient, but not so ancient that she was incapable of finding things remarkable. Take now, for instance, she thought as she sipped her dangerously caffeinated tea and did her best to mask her exhaustion behind a regal demeanor. I have contrived to convene a meeting with three of the most irreverent beings I know after a night of precious little sleep and long hours of unpleasant memories, and all three of them were here by pure chance.
Indeed, the original roster for the meeting, held in the opulent Rosewood Room that served as a private conference chamber in the palace, had called for more moderated representatives of the Crown Loyalists and Centrists to be present. But Fancy Pants was needed in Baltimare to follow up on a possible lead for Colonel Query’s investigation, and Windforce was delayed on his return from a summit with the Foreign Minister of Maretonia. That had left their cohorts, Edmare Burke and Gerhardt Griff, respectively, to replace them. Both were skilled politicians, it was true, but neither were known for mincing words.
“It’s a bloody disgrace is what it is!” spat the greying Gerhardt, his gravelly accent marking him as a native of the western reaches of the Griffish Isles. The green-clad Centrist griffon still dressed like a master shipwright, though he’d left the trade years before to pursue a career in politics. He traced his heritage back to the first griffon migrants to Equestria after the Great Diaspora and was militantly proud of the stock he’d come from. “Dodgy MPs taking in blokes what can’t tell a bog standard rotter from a proper git!”
“Aye!” snorted Burke, flicking her fiery red mane over her shoulder. “But ya got ta hoof it to ’em, tha sleeveen dastards are a canny bunch,” admitted the cream-coated young mare in her Braelic lilt, green eyes flashing as she shook her head. “Ya cannae trust ’em ta sell crisps, but they’ll pull their socks up when it comes time ta vote.”
Celestia fought the urge to blink owlishly as she unpacked what the two had said. Untrustworthy Members of Parliament deceiving ponies who can’t tell the difference between a vaguely unethical pony and a truly wicked one. But, for all that, they’re a clever bunch who, though they could not be trusted to sell snacks at a stand, will put the work in to swing the votes their direction. Sweet heavens, I’ve gotten out of practice since the Equestrian accent became more uniform. She took another sip of tea. Or perhaps I just need more sleep.
Mason Grey sat forward, chuckling. The third individual who hadn’t been slated for the meeting originally, Grey had been invited at the last moment because of his business acumen and many connections across all political fronts, and because he had many holdings in the areas affected by the recent developments. “I’ll give the Populists this much,” smirked the middle-aged stallion, “it takes talent to spit horse hockey so convincingly.”
Well, I understood that clearly enough, thought Celestia dryly.
The room’s other occupant (and sole voice of calm besides the diarch herself) cleared his throat meaningfully. “Gentlefolk,” he sighed with Trottish stoicism, “if we could kindly maintain some measure of composure and decorum in the princess’ presence, that would be most agreeable.”
“Ach! Lighten up, Pitty!” laughed Burke, replying to the heavyset purple stallion. “Grey’s only sayin’ what we’re all thinkin’.”
Plum Pit raised a cold eyebrow. “I meant you and dear Gerhardt as well, Miss Burke.”
Burke laughed. “Well I never! A Whig like yerself callin’ a Tory ta form on bein’ impolite ta the princess! Conservatism’s my bit, Pitty.”
Pit smiled dryly. “Yes, well, in case you hadn’t noticed, recent events have turned the world upside down.”
“I know!” lamented Burke. “I miss the days when it was you Labour lads as the Opposition and not these mad Populist larks!”
“Don’t feel bad, Burke,” Mason Grey comforted her. “I’m sure this will all blow over soon and you two can get back to being bitter rivals in no time. Won’t that be nice?”
Gerhardt scoffed. “How sentimental of you, Grey.”
The stallion shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good feud.”
His remark earned a chuckle from the others, and the tension eased in the room. Celestia was grateful for that. Burke’s and Gerhardt’s frustration was understandable, and Mason’s irreverence was to be expected, but they still had work to get done. And it wouldn’t do for the Sitting Government to just sit around griping, would it. Still, she mused, I suppose I should be grateful they work so well together.
Indeed, the success of the sitting Government had surprised most every citizen in Equestria. The rise of parties like the hidebound Primarchists, the nativist Equestria First Party, and the agitating Populists had driven old foes into unusual alliances. Conservatives like the ‘Tory’ Crown Loyalists and liberals like the ‘Whig’ Labour Party found themselves comrades-in-arms against the rising power of the more extreme parties on the wings. At the last General Election, Fancy Pants had allied the Loyalists with his old Labour Party antagonists from the Opposition, as well as the moderate Centrists, in a bid to keep more dangerous elements from seizing the majority of MP seats needed to establish a Government. He’d succeeded, but few had expected the unusual coalition to last.
They had been wrong. The Tri-Party Government, though not without its internal conflicts, had ably governed for nine years, surviving two General Elections and maintaining a bulwark against the more… militant parties that had emerged.
It was a vital unity, especially in light of recent events. A rash of strikes up and down the east coast had crippled the port infrastructure and all the jobs that depended on them. Given the tremendous harm a prolonged strike could do, a coordinated response from the Government was needed.
Now that the ire has been aired, we can finally get to the business of—
The door swung open to admit Princess Luna.
Or Luna can barge in and we can start over. That’s also acceptable.
As Fritters began his explanation, Twilight was pleased to see that Spike had anticipated her needs and produced fresh parchment for notes. That taken care of, she settled in to listen.
“Once upon a time,” he began, “in a magical land a fair ways east of Equestria…”
“Wait wait wait,” interrupted Rainbow, earning a glare from Twilight. “I thought you were telling us about Celestia, not giving us a history lesson.”
“One that sounds suspiciously Pinkie-ish for the intro,” muttered Applebloom, glancing at the pink mare.
“To understand my relationship with Equestria, you need to understand her relationship with my other homeland,” the Konik replied. “And maybe learn some history along the way.”
Rainbow moaned at the prospect, but Marble assured her, “Don’t worry. This history is right up your alley.”
Twilight clapped her hooves at the word ‘history’ (even though she already knew it) and was about to tell Spike to get more parchment but, again, her Number One Assistant was already on top of it. She gave him a quick hug and settled back in.
The interruption resolved, Fritters resumed, “Konikland is a beautiful country, a land of flowers and art and literature, of faith and philosophy, with music as old as Equestria and universities teaching the latest advances in science and magic. We were the first realm beyond Equestria to formalize a union of the Three Tribes, are the proud elder partner of the Konik-Griffuanian Commonwealth, and have rightly been called the Equestria of the Near East. Ours is a land deeply rooted in the Way of Harmony, in personal freedom, in civic-mindedness, and in unity.”
His fond tone turned somber. “But my home is also a troubled land. We are ringed in by powerful neighbors. The Hoofburgs in the days before the Austail-Hungriffian Empire, the Terskayans, Germaney, the list goes on. At various points, each has been an ally, and each has been an enemy. With no natural barriers in our land to dissuade invasion, we’ve had to fight for each and every inch of our land for centuries.” He gave a wan smile. “We have a saying in Konikland: ‘Nasze wody zalewają tulipany.’ ‘Our blood waters the tulips.’ Ours is a culture of art and song, yes, but of war and death as well. Resistance to aggression is a way of life for us. Defiance comes as easily as breathing.”
Twilight found herself leaning forward eagerly. She wasn’t the only one. There was something enticing about the plainspoken pride with which the Konik spoke.
“In all of this, we have had only one consistent ally beyond our Griffuanian brethren: Equestria. As I said, alliances shift like sand in the Near East. The only occasions on which all our neighbors have allied with us has been against common threats, as against the Liger invasion some three decades ago or the Ottomane invasion of Hungriffy. Yet Equestria has always been our friend in dark times. Perhaps it is our kindred values of freedom and equality. Perhaps it is a product of the friendship in ancient times between the Royal Sisters and old General Skrzydlaty Huzar in the Crystal War.” He gave a fond smile. “Perhaps it is Celestia herself.”
“You Equestrians revere Celestia, and rightly so, but I would venture that our own reverence for her equals and, in some cases, exceeds your own.”
Twilight gasped in horror and recoiled, but Fritters just responded with a dry smile.
“Heresy, I know,” he laughed, “but it is true. You see, Celestia never failed to come to our aid, even when it risked the wrath of her ministers. Equestria has always been our friend, but the Equestrian Government would often have preferred to leave us to our own misfortune.”
“Why ever would they do that?” asked Rarity, horrified.
Fritters shrugged. “Expenditures on foreign wars and diplomacy are seldom popular unless a clear benefit to Equestria can be demonstrated to both the populace and the State. More than once Government MPs, Opposition leaders, and even Prime Ministers attempted to block Celestia’s efforts to come to help us. They attacked her with regulations, laws, massed protest, holding funds hostage, all manner of political warmaking.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “But the Princess is not so easily outmaneuvered. How many of you besides Twilight and the soldiery know why the REF was formed?”
Only Spike’s claw went up, and Twilight winced. What do they teach in schools these days?
“Well, I’m not surprised. It’s hardly something that the losers would want publicized, and Celestia’s not one to brag. In essence, Equestrian Law forbids Celestia from unilaterally controlling any part of the military except for the Royal Guard. There was concern when the constitution was first written that the monarch should not wield too much power, lest she become a tyrant.”
“A sensible precaution,” remarked Jacques softly.
“Agreed,” said Fritters. “Can’t say I blame them, given the Nightmare Moon fiasco.”
Twilight and the other Bearers exchanged glances. “I’d call that a good deal more than a ‘fiasco,’” groused Twilight.
“Yeah, it was more of a fracas,” said Pinkie.
Fritters continued without seeming to notice, “I understand the reasoning, of course. On top of personally seeing the wisdom of it, I’m a Konik – our kings and queens are elected, and we’re no strangers to placing constraints on Royals. But the lack of absolute executive control severely limited her ability to act in military fashion without the Government’s support. Well, a few centuries back, we were facing the real possibility of annihilation by the combined forces of the Hoofburg Emperor, the Tsar, and the Germane Princes of the time. We needed aid, but the Equestrian Government didn’t want to risk Equestrian soldiers in a foreign war. Celestia, however, considered it a matter of honor to help us defend our freedom. Her Royal Guard, which she can unilaterally deploy, was not large enough, so she saw fit to create a Royal Expeditionary Force. I won’t bore you with the complex legalese and backroom deals she made, but the end result was an elite force of private volunteers drawn from every branch of the military. They would enlist as soldiers of the Konik military, the Equestrian Volunteer Force, and only be reconstituted as an Equestrian military unit after the war concluded – one which fell under the auspices of the Royal Guard and answered to Celestia alone.” He smiled fondly and shook his head in admiration. “She financed the entire unit herself. Darn near went bankrupt doing it, too.”
“Good for the princess!” declared Applejack. “Can’t put a price on honor.”
“True enough,” said Fritters, “but it wasn’t just a monetary price she paid. Her political opponents were none too happy with her, and in some ways she’s still paying off that political debt centuries later. Her opponents also took to branding the EVF and its successor the REF as Celestia’s personal ‘War Dogs’.” He smacked his peytral with his hoof. “What they mean as an insult we proudly bear as a badge of honor – a vow in blood and steel that Equestria will never leave the innocent without defenders. It is no less than our sacred duty.”
“As for me,” he shrugged, “my own intimacy with Celestia is more banal in nature. Equestria’s alliance with Konikland is by no means one-sided. Many of our top scientists come here to share knowledge, our artists and writers teach in universities, and, of course, our soldiers come in droves. Some teach at war colleges, sharing their firsthoof knowledge of battle with your more peaceful land, while others lend their expertise on the battlefield itself. My father was a Hussar and fought alongside the REF at the Siege of Viennhoof. When the High Command came looking for officers to move to Equestria and repay our debt to your country, he eagerly volunteered.”
“As such, my family grew up mostly in Canterlot. My brothers and sisters and I all have dual citizenship, and most live and work in Equestria. My father still teaches at the war college at West Pinion. My unicorn brother and his wife run a shop in Manehatten, while my two pegasi brothers are carrying on the family tradition of the Hussars; sometimes they’re in Konikland with the Home Army, but they often wind up attached to the Equestrian Lancers on joint operations. Two of my sisters married Equestrian stallions, one a naval officer and the other a farmer. The third sister, my twin, has a government job in Canterlot. And, me, well,” he gestured to the uniform, “I served as a Drapieżnik for years before a joint anti-slavery task force brought me into the REF.”
His eyes twinkled with memory. “I first met Celestia as a young colt when she was reviewing the garrison. My father introduced the family, and when she got to me and asked my name, I blurted out ‘O mój Boże! You’re huge!’”
They all had to laugh at that. Even Fluttershy managed a coy titter.
Morning Song, who was no more familiar with this story than the rest of them, exclaimed, “You didn’t!”
“Oh, but I did,” he smiled. “Kibitz, her steward, almost had a heart attack, to say nothing of my poor mother, but I think I amused the princess with my frankness. We got along famously after that.” He turned to Twilight. “And that is really all there is to it. I probably didn’t see nearly as much of the princess growing up as you did, but we’re close enough that I can treat her with scandalous irreverence.”
“That’s really something,” Twilight giggled. “I can’t believe you said that to her face! But I’m glad your family is close to her.” Her thoughts drifted to a certain family member of hers. “You know, my uncle Red Lance fought at Viennhoof alongside the Hussars.”
Fritters’ face turned solemn at the name. “I do know that, though I didn’t know he was your uncle. My father served with him.”
“He did?!” exclaimed Twilight, sitting forward.
“Yes,” said Fritters. “And you should know that Papa always spoke very highly of Colonel Red Lance. He wept bitterly when he heard he’d been killed in action. On behalf of my kin, I offer you condolences for his loss. He was a great pony.”
Twilight felt moisture in her eyes, “Thank you, Fritters. That… that means a lot.”
“No thanks are necessary,” said Fritters. “You deserve to know his honor. We Koniks understand such things. It should please you to know that my people regard the late Colonel as a Konik in all but blood, and his name is listed alongside the fallen Hussars who fought at Viennhoof.”
Tears welled up, and Twilight gratefully accepted a kerchief from Rarity. “Uncle Lance always did say your people were among the finest warriors.”
“It’s an honor I strive to live up to. Speaking of which,” with a flare of his magic, he picked up his spear, “let’s work on that charging attack of yours.” With that, the ponies were goaded back to their practicing. Though, in truth, it took little goading. After the example that had been set, it would have been harder to walk away than to stay.
Political Context - Their Majesties' Government
Despite the fact that proportionally few of the readers of 14th Century Friar will read this aside, I spent a great deal of time pondering how I wanted Equestria’s political structure to be portrayed in the fic. Before I get into describing that structure, however, I need to clarify some things.
I went back and forth for a long time whether or not to include this segment, the reason being that politics are so contentious these days that even mentioning it can be enough to end a party or destroy friendships (on the other hand, talking about Star Wars VIII can be enough to do that anymore, so maybe we just need to cool off in general). That saddens me because, frankly, we need to talk about it. We need a free exchange of ideas. We need each other. Conservatives need liberals and liberals need conservatives and everyone who doesn’t fit neatly into one category or the other (i.e. most of us) needs everyone else. People on both sides of the political aisle used to be able to cooperate. They still do, to an extent (bills about prison reform and relief for victims of ISIS genocide passed with bipartisan support in the last couple years), but it’s nowhere near as good as it used to be.
With this in mind, I went to great lengths to create a Coalition Government in the Equestrian Government (elaborated on below) which is a fusion of liberal, conservative, and independent movements, united against the shared threat of tyranny. I say ‘shared threat’ because, truly, tyranny is a threat to everyone. Even the people who support it are in danger from it. Tyranny may come from the Right or the Left, but while it may wear many masks, it always has the same face underneath it: the destruction of human rights and the degradation of human freedom. Systems and ideologies which truly oppose tyranny with freedom, whatever form they take, are to be praised. And I was very deliberate when I said ‘oppose tyranny with freedom’ because it is not enough to oppose tyranny with an answering tyranny – if your enemy oppresses you it does not magically justify using terrorism against him, just as your acts of terrorism do not justify his tyranny. Evil is evil, and it is the enemy of all things good and free.
People will likely say, “Antiquarian has a political message in his story.” Well, that’s right. I do. My message is that I would fight and die to preserve Freedom and oppose Tyranny, and you should all feel the same way. I don’t care if you’re liberal, conservative, independent, or any other color of the political rainbow – your allies are those who are friends of freedom, and your enemies are those who attack freedom – if that means that your allies are on the other side of the political fence and your enemies share your party, well, so be it. You don’t need to jump the fence from conservative to liberal or liberal to conservative or anything else to work with other people to face off against that which threatens you all. Stop talking about Right and Left and start talking about Right and Wrong.
Which is why I’m making the following request: don’t talk about modern politics in the comments. Don’t go anywhere beyond high concept. At least, don’t do it here. If you want to talk about it somewhere else, PM each other; start a blog post and invite people to the thread; heck, create a group on fimfiction called ‘the political implications of A 14th Century Friar’ if you feel like it. You can even comment on this story to let people know it exists and invite them to the discussion. If it strikes my fancy I may even pop over and throw in my two cents.
Just don’t do it here.
Why, you ask? Well because, frankly, I don’t feel like moderating a political debate in my comments section. I want people to talk, just not here. Politics may be a part of this story, but mostly that’s at the high concept level rather than the nitty gritty, and it’s not the core of what A 14th Century Friar is about. I refuse to let the comments section turn it into something it isn’t.
And, frankly, most of the political commentary isn’t even relevant. The conservatives, liberals, etc. in this story aren’t based off of anything modern in American or English politics. The most recent reference I make to anything real world is WWII-era and relates specifically to the conduct of certain people, not the parties or their philosophies as a whole. Most of the rest is either based on 1800s vintage English politics with the ever-changing Tories and Whigs and the dozen or so other parties which shifted around them (with a dash of American politics from the same era), or else is based on fictional political parties (some of which aren’t published anywhere because they’re from scrapped story ideas of mine). So talking about Brexit or the 2016/2020 elections is not just obnoxious; it’s also inaccurate.
If you remember nothing else, remember this: IF YOU START PUTTING MODERN POLITICS DOWN IN THE COMMENTS SECTION BEYOND INVITING PEOPLE TO A CONVERSATION ON A DIFFERENT PLATFORM, I WILL BLOCK YOUR COMMENT! I hate doing that, because I despise censorship and want to foster open communication, but I refuse to let my story become a political battleground if I can stop it. Please, if you want to discuss it, I encourage you to respectfully do so. Seriously, go talk about these things. Just don’t do it here.
Now, let’s get down to brass tacks. I took great pains to craft a government which merged conservative and liberal ideas. I wrote the government this way to make an important point about politics and statecraft: namely, that we need both liberal and conservative thought in order for our society to flourish.
Broadly speaking, classical liberal thought is the fire that keeps us looking for ways to progress in our society, while classical conservative thought is the caution that keeps us from progressing in the wrong direction. Each acts as a counterbalance to the other; the latter to keep us from diving into danger while the former to keep us from stagnating.
It is important to remember that both conservativism and liberalism are nebulous concepts. They change with the times, and the moral high ground shifts with them. Sometimes conservatives dominate the true moral high ground, sometimes liberals do, and sometimes it is shared more or less equitably between the two. Sometimes the moral high ground is clear enough to both sides that they are able to compromise on technical differences so as to serve the greater good. Sometimes, one line of thinking has become so entrenched in the wrong that the other is forced to go it alone to prevent catastrophe. But, in the end, it always follows the swing of the pendulum. Depending on the context, what makes someone conservative now might have made them a liberal a century ago. It is for this reason that we must always be mindful that labels, while useful for discussing broad concepts and terms, should be used sparingly in defining thought and even more sparingly in defining people. In fact, I prefer not to label people as ‘conservative’ or ‘liberal,’ but as favoring one or the other as those concepts currently stand, always taking into account that such generalizations are vague and prone to change.
Living in a prosperous and safe society brings with it many privileges, among them having the free time to devote to contemplation of higher things. This time of contemplation is an essential part of how society grows and matures. It brings with it a danger, however. That danger is simply this: when people become too far removed from the immediacy of suffering, they often begin to contemplate actions which would send up warning signals if suffering were more imminent. The actions might be well-intentioned, but they can be quite deadly all the same. A man who has never known the pain of war may make war more lightly than a soldier who has drunk from that bitter cup. A man who has never known true poverty and hardship may interpret malice where there is merely a difference of wealth. When people forget what tyranny looks like, their senses become dulled to warning signs. So, when a dynamic speaker comes and tells them that they can make life even better, all the signals that might have tipped off someone who recently escaped a despot go right over the head of someone with a more peaceful life. Right or Left, everyone is susceptible to such lies.
This is more or less what I envision to be plaguing Equestria: with a thriving economy, an equitable society, and generally high standards of living, too many have become soft and complacent. They’ve forgotten what tyranny really is, so they’re vulnerable to someone coming along and telling them that they’re being oppressed, that they’re in grave danger, that they deserve more than they’re getting without doing anything, etc. And this line of thinking has poisoned parties on both the Right and the Left, making Equestria Parliament increasingly partisan and extreme.
Fortunately, Celestia is no fool, and she has capable ponies serving her. Their Majesties’ Government is, as such, an entity formed specifically to combat this myriad of threats to stability.
With all this in mind, I would like to reiterate that Their Majesties’ Government is not intended to make reference to any modern political party (for that matter, neither are the unions – like the real world, they’re a mix of good and bad, with legitimate activism on one side and cynical agitation on the other). The philosophies espoused by the three parties of the Coalition Government are drawn from a mixture of fiction and history, and (amongst the latter), from parties which are at least six decades old and, for that matter, primarily of the English rather than American variety.
Their Majesties’ Government
Equestria is a Constitutional Monarchy. Its Parliament is composed of representatives of the various city states which fall under the rule of the Crown. In this respect, it is similar to the English system with the added twist that the city states and their respective governments have authority somewhat akin to the individual states of the United States – they are largely self-governing in most matters, but still form a unified Equestrian State. It should also be noted that the Equestrian Crown wields considerably more direct power than the English equivalent (though not without certain restrictions, among them being the rights of city states so withdraw support from the Crown). This system evolved from the Medieval Period of Equestrian history, wherein individual lords, chieftains, elders, and other civic leaders all swore fealty to the Equestrian Crown in return for unified protection from foreign threats and an assurance of equitable trade amongst its members (the latter being an especially important stipulation, given the lingering divisions between the Three Tribes at the time). The system became more formalized after Celestia and Luna took power following Discord’s defeat, ultimately culminating in the modern system.
Their Royal Majesties’ Government is led by the Prime Minister (presently Duke Golden Crown, aka ‘Fancy Pants’), who selects all the remaining ministers. The prime minister and the other most senior ministers belong to the supreme decision-making committee known as the Cabinet. The Government ministers all sit in Parliament and are accountable to it. General Elections are held every five years to elect a new House of Commons, unless there is a successful vote of no confidence in the Government or a two-thirds vote for a snap election in the House of Commons, in which case an election may be held sooner. After an election, the principle ruler in the Diarchy (in this case Celestia) selects as Prime Minister the leader of the party most likely to command the confidence of the House of Commons, usually by possessing a majority of MPs (Member of Parliament). This may be achieved by a single party holding the majority (as the Crown Loyalists did prior to the current sitting government) or through a coalition Government composed of multiple parties whose interests align.
Their Royal Most Loyal Opposition is comprised of the parties not within the sitting Government. Traditionally, it is led by the pony whose party has the largest number of seats of any party in the Opposition. When the Crown Loyalists were the dominant party, the Labour Party was the core of the Opposition and the Labour Party’s Lady Juniper Rose was its leader. When the Opposition is more ideologically divided, however (as it is presently), this convention may be eschewed.
Many of the political battles over the years have been waged over the relative authority of the executive (in this case Celestia and, more recently, Luna), the central government (Parliament), and local government (mostly mayors and governors with the occasional hereditary noble). Hundreds of different parties have emerged over the years around particular interests and causes (like the Equal Representation Alliance, which sought and gained restrictions on the degree to which local authorities could tax the common pony, and Silver Standard Party, which sought unsuccessfully to replace the Equestrian Bit with silver currency). However, while party names, ideologies, and emphases change with shifting political currents and the passage of interests from one party to another, there are two basic ideologies which have persisted around the basic distribution of power. Broadly speaking, they are the Tories (who favor a strong executive, strong local governance, and weak central government) and the Whigs (who favor the opposite). Many different names and agendas have been attached to both the Tories and Whigs (with certain agendas switching sides multiple times in the same century), but the basics have remained the same. Traditionally, the Tories have been more fiscally conservative and the Whigs more fiscally liberal, but the degree to which this is true has often fluctuated, and social change (both positive and negative) has come at different times from both.
The current Government (known generally as the Tri-Party Government) was formed as a Coalition Government from three political parties as a way to pool their resources and unite against rising extremism from parties such as Equestria First, the Primarchists, and the Populists. In an ironic twist, the various moderate MPs on both the right and the left were increasingly being labelled as ‘extremists’ for their dedication to statecraft and compromise. The Crown Loyalist Government was risking a loss of control to more dangerous political rivals on either the far Right or the far Left as MPs were defecting to more extreme parties. Meanwhile, the Labour Party (up to that point the most prominent Opposition Party) was experiencing similar losses. Worried about the future of Equestria should parties such as the Equestria First Party or the Populists take power, Duke Golden Crown (‘Fancy Pants’) approached the Labour Party and the emerging Centrist Party with the proposal of a Coalition Government. While the new coalition is unusual, skillful diplomacy has made it a shockingly effective government. Though the member parties often differ over the specifics of certain policies, they retain the same core values (albeit often for different reasons) and have been able to find sufficient common ground to operate. The Centrists’ insistence on slow, sweeping reform has kept change at a manageable level for all (though critics often grow impatient).
For example, the Crown Loyalists favored granting full executive powers to Luna upon her return. This was unacceptable to the Labour Party, who would have preferred that her title of ‘Princess’ remain largely ceremonial. A compromise was found stipulating (among many other details) that Luna would be a junior executive to Celestia, would gain full executive powers only if Celestia were incapacitated, and that any executive powers which Luna wielded when Celestia was not incapacitated would only by those ceded to her (and renounced on her own part) by Celestia. This, incidentally, is why the great hall has only one throne.
As another example, the REF intervention in the Kudandan Genocide was supported by all three parties. For the Crown Loyalists, it was a matter of noblesse oblige for Equestria to protect those who could not protect themselves. For the Labour Party, it was a matter of preventing the most egregious form of exploitation. For the Centrists, it was a matter of being good neighbors. For all three parties, it was a matter of protecting sapient beings from being massacred simply because it was the right thing to do.
These compromises, and others like them, have enabled the Tri-Party Government to hold the majority in Parliament and maintain a well-functioning system in spite of the rising power of the more extreme Opposition leaders.
The Crown Loyalist Party (known as ‘Tories’ or ‘CLP’ in parlance) draw inspiration from certain aspects of English Tories and from the Crown Loyalist Party in David Weber’s Honor Harrington series (who might be likened unto space-age Tories).
They are a socially and fiscally conservative party with strong ties to the old noble houses and the communities which grew around them. Their core belief is that those with the capability have a solemn duty to serve the people. This principle is drawn from the old sense of noblesse oblige, dating back to early Equestria when lords and ladies were expected to live (and often die) by this standard. They favor a strong executive and publicly support the Crown at virtually every term. However, contrary to common belief, they are not ‘Yes-Ponies.’ Privately, they can be quite vocal in voicing their concerns to Celestia, and it is an established fact that, should she ever turn tyrannical, the Crown Loyalists would be amongst the first to seek her removal, by force if necessary. They generally emphasize the authority of local governments more than that of Parliament, a tradition which has its roots in a period where Celestia cooperated well with the local lords and governors to serve and govern the people while the courtiers of Canterlot largely schemed. As such, they are often popular which those who favor small government and minimal central oversight, which has led to strong constituencies in towns like Appleoosa, despite the lack of any direct connection to the noble houses.
The party suffered losses when the Primarchist Party was formed, as many of the wealthiest and most influential members of the CLP (including a significant number of Canterlot MPs) defected. They also lost a goodly number of constituents because the Primarchists had given them such a bad name; many conservative voices amongst the commoners felt that the nobles of the CLP did not properly represent their interests (despite the fact that the nobility is now the minority within the CLP MPs). In spite of their losses, however, the core of the CLP remains strong, its primary constituencies being populations with old ties to nobility (like Trottingham and Edinburro) and populations with historical ties to Celestia who favor local governance (like Ponyville). Notable members include Prime Minister Duke Golden Crown (generally called ‘Fancy Pants’), Lord Lionheart,* and Edmare Burke.*
The Labour Party (known as ‘Whigs’ in parlance) draw inspiration from the later days of the Whig party (when their concerns were on addressing the grievous poverty in England and, in a reversal from their traditional antipathy towards Catholicism, on advocating for the emancipation of Catholics under the law). They also draw inspiration from certain members of the Labour Party of England during World War II -men who reached across party lines to work with Tory MPs to oppose England’s failure to honor its alliance with Poland when the Nazis and Soviets invaded. These same Labour MPs would later to join those same Tories in opposing the government’s second betrayal – when Poland was essentially sold to the Soviets (regrettably, they were unsuccessful).
The Equestrian Labour Party is a moderate liberal party with a strong emphasis on preventing exploitation on both foreign and domestic fronts. Their legacy dates back to the nobles and other civic leaders who pushed early reforms following the Unification – a time when lingering prejudices kept the tribes somewhat separated and certain communities economically subservient (they were strong allies of the Equal Representation Alliance at the time). They are the most fiscally liberal member of the coalition government, but the wealth of the country and the prolific nature of its private social programs has made this a less contentious issue than it might otherwise have been, since local charities render government aid largely superfluous in many regions anyway. Historically more contentious has been their favoring of a weaker executive and a stronger Parliament, but concessions from Celestia (like those made after Luna’s return) have made for a generally positive working relationship in recent years.
The Labour Party has faced heavy losses to the Populists and other smaller parties, especially in areas where unrest has been stirred up between competing factions, but they retain strong loyalties in many large cities like Manehattan and Fillydelphia, which were founded without Royal Charter or a history of noble houses. Noted members include Green Wood,* Plum Pit,* and Lady Juniper Rose.
The Centrists, like the CLP, draw loose inspiration from David Weber. They also contain an assortment of independent parties on both ends of the political spectrum from both American and English history; mostly the sort which were founded with a specific mission in mind (like ending slavery or gaining voting rights for women).
The Centrists are often said to be a fitting linchpin for a coalition government because they are a coalition party. They were formed by a gathering of moderate conservatives who weren’t members of the Crown Loyalists but rejected the more extreme parties like the Primarchists, by liberal MPs from smaller parties who had alienated their original parties by supporting military intervention (see below), and by independents who didn’t exactly fit the any other constituencies.
Unlike the Crown Loyalists and Labour Party, the Centrists have no one member of the Opposition that is their direct shadow. The closest would be the Equestria First Party, which (as will be elaborated on below) is isolationist, nativist, and supremacist in nature. The Centrists have a large number of nationalists in their ranks, but, unlike the EFP, their idea of patriotism is to improve Equestria by any means that will achieve that goal while retaining the values which make them strong in the first place. Thus, they are welcoming of immigrants with compatible value systems, wildly open to trade, and make no distinction between an Equestrian pony and an Equestrian griffon. They are proud of Equestrian values, but, recognizing that Equestria was founded on Three Tribes becoming more than the sum of their parts, they are willing to accept new ideas when those ideas bring genuine enrichment.
On the whole, the Centrists are flexible moderates who tend to support local governance, oppose deficit spending, and favor slow, sweeping social and economic reform. They are less fiscally conservative than the Crown Loyalists, but more fiscally conservative than the Labour Party. They are prepared to favor strengthening or weakening the executive and Parliament as needed, and often act as mediator between the CLP and Labour Party. They are supportive of both military and relief intervention overseas, but only so long as it is truly relief (not rule) and does not place undue burden upon Equestria. Given that Celestia has never espoused imperialistic interests, they’ve been largely satisfied. They have also been prominent voices in fighting the slave trade overseas, and as such have often been a gathering point for activists from both sides of the aisle. Immigrants and refugees who have come seeking the Equestrian dream often vote Centrist; a common joke in the Griffish Isles is that it’s easier to find a pacifist dragon than it is to find a Griffon Islander who doesn’t vote Centrist. Prominent members include Will Windforce,* F.O. Douglass,* and Gerhardt Griff**.
The Opposition
Typically, there is one major Opposition party which heads the resistance to the Government. However, the very partisanship which pushed most all the vaguely moderate MPs into the Government also divided the Opposition. Individually, certain Opposition parties (like the Populists) out-mass individual parties of the Government. However, while the Government has unified to offset this imbalance, most of the Opposition parties with clout despise each other and only unify on certain issues out of uncomfortable convenience.
For instance, the Populists and the Primarchists both oppose foreign efforts (the former out of a fear of Celestial Imperialism, the latter out of the sense that the rest of the world isn’t worth Equestria’s time unless it directly enriches them).
There are currently eight Opposition parties of various sizes in the Equestrian Parliament, but only three have the clout to be significant on their own.
The Primarchists are the rich, stuck-up, narrow-minded ultra-conservative ‘nobles’ that give Canterlot and other old blood cities a bad name. Most are former Crown Loyalists, but they split from the party either because A) they felt that noblesse oblige should only come after the ‘common ponies’ had suitably made obeisance to them and/or B) they felt that Celestia should really just let them rule instead, being that they are, of course, the most qualified. The CLP lost a lot of seats when the Primarchists broke away, but most were happy to see them go; they gave the CLP a bad name that it’s still struggling to rebrand. Their constituency draws heavily from Canterlot and a few other such old cities, but nowhere else. They are wealthy enough to be dangerous, but have no room to expand without help. Lord High Castle is the de facto leader of the Primarchists, though Prince Blueblood has been known to attend their functions.
The Equestria First Party is largely inspired by the so-called “Know Nothings” of the American 1850s. And, yes, that was a real thing. The Know Nothings (ironically called the Native American Party in their own documentation) started as a secret society on the anti-immigration, xenophobic, and above all anti-Catholic platform. They believed in a Roman conspiracy to take over the world, and if you think they were just a bunch of nutters with no influence, watch One Man’s Hero starring Tom Berenger some time. It’s not about the Know Nothings, but it does show how deeply imbedded that kind of thinking was – a lot of people believed that conspiracy. In any case, the EFP isn’t that different. They’re xenophobic in the extreme, would like to see all foreign efforts by Equestria cut off (save for those which rescue ‘proper’ Equestrian ponies), and feel that Celestia is a well-meaning but weak executive. Paranoia is their watchword, and about the only thing they agree with the Government on regularly is the importance of the military (if anything, the EFP would like to see a massive increase in the military).
The Populists are a hard-left political movement which advocates for the abolition of wealth inequality and for the State (specifically the Parliament) to be responsible education, social programs, the market, public works, and more, depending on the stridency of the MP in question. They favor nigh-total centralization of the State though, significantly, they also favor the restriction of Executive power to little more than a figurehead, and loudly cry for an end to the nobility (though, ironically, there are a few nobles amongst their ranks). They enjoy enthusiastic support in many of the large cities of Equestria, especially those riven with significant gaps in wealth, and are trendy amongst the youth, especially the university-educated ponies from upper-middle class and wealthy families.
(Incidentally, if you go back to the populist movements even in the ancient world, you will see this basic trend remaining more or less unchanged across thousands of years. At least 75% of these factors are present in most such movements that I’ve studied, including both the less extreme movements that actually had some positive qualities to the outright horrifying ones. As a couple examples, consider Mazdak’s followers in Iran in the 500s, the French Revolution, and a disturbingly high number of tyrannical regimes that arose in Europe from the 1920s-50s).
* Denotes the characters at least loosely inspired by real-world individuals, and are described below.
F.O. Douglass is a reference to Frederick Douglass, the former slave turned abolitionist orator, statesman, and social reformer. He was an outspoken suffragist and worked tirelessly for the equal treatment of all people, regardless of race, sex, or creed. He reached across political, social, and religious aisles to unite all people of goodwill. The name ‘Frederick Douglass’ didn’t lend itself to ponification, so here’s the backstory for F.O. Douglass:
Born in slavery outside Equestria, the earth pony never knew his birth parents; he was raised by two donkey slaves who named him ‘Douglass’ after their own conventions. His adoptive parents died in bondage, but he escaped to Equestria. After becoming naturalized, he threw himself into activism. The self-educated stallion’s gift for speaking earned him the nickname ‘Free Orator.’ He accepted the name graciously, but it is always secondary to the name his adoptive parents gave him. He is one of the most prominent members of the Centrist Party and, with Windforce, the leader of its anti-slavery arm. The two of them chair the Special Committee for Ending Sentient-Trafficking by order of the Princess. The operation which Morning Song alluded to that brought her into the REF was spearheaded by Douglass and Windforce.
Windforce is a reference to William Wilberforce – that powerhouse of a human being who fought so hard to end slavery in England in the 1800s. His success would lead ultimately to slavery being outlawed in international law. Windforce is similar in tone and personality.
Lord Lionheart and Green Wood are references to Leo Amery (a British Tory MP) and Arthur Greenwood (a British Labour MP) who, though on opposite sides of the political aisle in WWII, decried the Chamberlain Government’s betrayal of Poland and appeasement of the Nazis. When Greenwood rose to condemn the (Tory) Chamberlain Government and said he would speak for Labour, a furious Amery bellowed, “Speak for England!” implicitly proclaiming that Chamberlain wasn’t. They would be unlikely allies in their shared opposition of tyranny and would later object to the second betrayal of Poland later in the war.
Lionheart, like the man who inspired him, is a fiery and unapologetic conservative. Liberal Green Wood is more tempered in tone, but just as bold in standing for his beliefs and as passionate in doing so.
Edmare Burke is the daughter of her predecessor, Edmane Burke, who himself is a reference to one of my favorite statesmen, Edmund Burke. The realworld Edmund Burke was characterized by his liberal sensibilities, which drove him to support social and state reform, equality under the law, and the American colonial resistance to unjust treatment by the English (though not the Revolution itself). He was also characterized by his conservative caution, which warned him against the bloodbath that would eventually spill from the French Revolution. For his unique blend of passion for progress and caution to not progress in the wrong direction, both conservatives and liberals have admired him over the centuries.
Edmane is styled to be more or less a ponified Burke and a Whig before he was a Tory, with his daughter having much the same temperament, though with a sharper tongue, an irreverent wit, and a more staunchly Tory outlook.
Plum Pit is a reference to William Pitt the Elder, a Whig statesman noted for his opposition to corruption (including his outspoken criticism of the hilariously corrupt Robert Walpole), for his service to the common people, for his patriotism, and for his sympathy towards the American position leading up to the Revolutionary War (much like Burke, he saw the injustice and questionable legality of taxation without representation).
Plum Pit is an ally to the common pony and an outspoken opponent of all government corruption, regardless of party. As he has been routinely picked by the Crown to head up investigations of misuse of funds and abuse of power, he’s made a lot of enemies.
**Though not based on any one specific thing, I was pleased with the backstory for Gerhardt Griff and wanted to share.
Gerhardt Griff is a proud descendent of the first griffon settlers to Equestria after the Great Diaspora – the mass emigration of griffons out of their hereditary kingdoms in the east and into new lands during and after the cataclysmic Six Years’ War, which involved many of the griffon kingdoms and led to the fall of no less than ten governments. Most of the griffon immigrants who settled in Equestria did so on the western reaches of what came to be called the Griffish Isles, and now make up around fifty percent of the Isles’ population. Ponies and a small but significant number of donkeys and mules account for the majority of the eastern half of the Isles, mostly centered around Edinburro and Trottingham, while the griffons are the majority on the western half around such cities as Griffony and Talondon. The equine and griffon halves of the island possess cultures distinct from each other, but they share a broader hybrid culture which makes them distinct from the mainland, and generally will support other islanders over mainlanders in matters of state, sports, culinary preferences, and the like.
While the equine side of the Isles has traditionally been the stomping grounds of the Whigs and Tories (now the Labour and Crown Loyalist Parties, respectively), the griffon side spawned a number of more unique independent parties, most notably the Griffish Patriotic Movement.
The GPM was characterized on one hand by a love for business, business, and more business. They favored big business, small business, and everything in between, with minimal restrictions on trade both foreign and domestic and strong market incentives. However, much to the shock of many mainlanders, they were also markedly pro-Union. This hearkens back to the early post-Diaspora years, when unscrupulous business leaders, both griffon and pony, exploited the immigrant workers. The Griffish unions were founded to combat this exploitation. However, thanks in large part to the profit-oriented griffon mindset, the unions were quite in favor of creating wealth – so long as everyone was getting a piece of the pie. With Whig support, the unions worked with more equitably minded business owners to create a business environment where businesses profited by ensuring that customers and employees were treated well, thus ensuring repeat business and driving less ethical competitors out of business. They also incentive cooperation from businesses by offering extensive training to union members, bringing up the general quality of the labor pool. To this day, the Griffish Unions remain notable for following this model, which has enabled a fair degree of stability in the labor market of the Isles (both equine and griffon), and has attracted alliances from both conservative and liberal politicos. It has often put them at odds with other unions, however, whenever they perceive those unions as acting irrationally against businesses, and they often lament of the inability of protesters to know the difference between ‘bog standard rotters’ (unethical but ordinary business owners and politicos who may be overcome with careful maneuvering) and ‘proper gits’ (genuinely dangerous individuals who genuinely require hard-line responses).
The GPM was also noted for being vehemently proud of its nation and its ruler. This has its roots in the patriotism of the early griffon settlers who left their war-torn homelands to find peace and opportunity in Equestria. Though not always well-treated, especially in the early years, the Griffish griffons ultimately proved to be among the most loyal of Celestia’s supporters, with many of them serving in the military. The 4th Talondon Fusiliers, for instance, has had their motto as ‘Sol Vincit’ (the Sun Conquers) for six centuries, and were so noted for their devotion to the princess that it spawned a popular saying amongst the pony soldier in reference to the Griffish griffons – “Converts are the worst.” (It should be noted that Celestia is both flattered and somewhat uncomfortable with their devotion).
Gerhardt Griff, affectionately called the “Old Tom of Talondon,” is seen as the quintessential Griffish griffon and GPM member, having been a union dock worker, a master shipwright and business owner, and a highly decorated member of the 4th Talondon Fusiliers. Plainspoken to the point of abrasiveness and utterly honest, he despises rich and powerful individuals who exploit the masses almost as much as he despises those who take advantage of the exploitation to whip the masses up in a cynical bid for power.
Though a significant power amongst the smaller parties in Parliament, the GPM and other such independent parties which did not fit neatly as conservative or liberal faced the prospect of losing their seats in the face of the rising polarization caused by the major Opposition parties. Recognizing the danger, Gerhardt Griff led them to join the emerging Centrists, thereby to concentrate their power until such time as the winds shift again and allow the dissolution of the Centrists. Having been both friend and foe to CLP and Labour Party in the past, the GPM (with Griff at its helm) has been instrumental in ensuring cooperation between the old rivals.
A 14th Century Friar at Canterlot High
Great Priory St. Gilles, Provencal, Commandry of the Knights of St. John, Anno Domini 1321
Jacques sat in Methuselah’s room, having just finished relating his worries to the old man, beginning with the dreams of Acre before telling how this night the dream had changed, and finally ending with his decision to bring his sword when he came to see his mentor. He found himself staring at the sheathed blade. “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure why I felt compelled to collect it. It just felt…right I suppose.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine my reasoning. My enemies these days are of the spirit, not of the flesh.”
He was not a little surprised when Methuselah began to laugh hysterically. The old monk’s wheezing cackle was like that of a madman, and Jacques felt uneasy for reasons he could not articulate. “Um… Father Methuselah?”
“It’s finally happening!” laughed Methuselah. “All these years of waiting, three Inquisitions to verify that I am neither mad nor possessed, even the loss of my eyesight, and finally the vision is to be fulfilled.”
Jacques felt a chill run down his spine at the apparent ravings. “You are not making any sense, old one. Are you quite well? Need I fetch a physician?”
Regaining his composure somewhat, the ancient man waved him off. “No, my friend. I am quite sound of mind, thankfully. I simply find myself in the unusual position of sympathizing with old Simeon, who was told he would not die until he had seen the Christ. This is a matter of infinitely less weight, of course, but it has still been a source of some consternation to me wondering when I might see its conclusion.” Before Jacques could ask after his cryptic words, Methuselah pointed a frail hand at his bed. “Beneath the bed you will find a sack filled with everything a priest should need for his travels, as well as a bottle of wine and a large tome. Pray, fetch the last two.”
Thoroughly mystified, Jacques did as he was bade. He found the bottle first. At the sound of the liquid sloshing inside, Methuselah grinned. “An 871 Burgundy. A very good year. Not to be imbibed in indiscreet fashion, of course, but a little sip may help ease the shock.”
Jacques considered demanding that the older man explain what he meant, but reasoned that all would be made clear when he retrieved the other item.
Instead, his confusion only grew. The massive tome appeared to be at least the size of the average illuminated bible, which raised all sorts of questions by itself. He was further surprised to see three leaden stamps upon the cover, marking three separate Inquisitions which had reviewed the document. Most unusual, however, was the title.
“All You’ve Ever Wanted to Know About the Complexities of Inter-Universe Travel but Were Afraid to Ask,” he read aloud. Methuselah’s only response was to give a slight chuckle and gesture for him to read. Jacques opened to the first page and continued, “Chapter One: On Terms and Definitions Related to Powers Granted Unto Mortals by God in Different Settings.” He caught sight of a scrawled margin note. “See also chapters from A 14th Century Friar in Celestia’s Court, most notably: ‘The Fire,’ ‘So What You’re Saying Is You’re NOT Evil?,’ ‘My Dear Readers… (A Non-Canon Interlude),’ ‘Intro to Equestria 101,’ ‘First Lessons (Part 2),’…” he trailed off before he could read the rest and simply turned to stare mutely at Methuselah.
Despite his blindness, the older man seemed to feel his gaze. “Take my advice, my young friend: don’t read those until you’ve finished the section on multiverse theory.” Jacques blinked, his mind now on another question. Once more, Methuselah answered it without prompting. “Bottle opener is in the second drawer from the top.”
Three days and several thousand pages later…
Jacques massaged his temples against a headache that felt rather like a hangover but, in fact, had nothing whatsoever to do with alcohol. Truthfully, he had made a point of imbibing only a little. Reality was enough of a headache as it was. “So, hypothetically,” he began, “thousands of other universes exist in which we’ve had this exact conversation with only mild changes, and yet in each one I am sent to a different world?”
“Hypothetically, yes,” replied Methuselah, swirling the wine in his goblet. “And don’t even get me started on the issue of timelines. I practically get a nosebleed just thinking about it.”
Jacques groaned and closed his eyes. “On one hand, I find it rather helpful that an angel directly appeared and laid all of this out for you in a clear and, for the content, concise manner, but this is a horrifying amount to take in all at once.”
Methuselah gave him an arch look. “A lot to take in all at once, you say? I had to transcribe the entire message over the course of a month of nightly visits from the angel! I’m just grateful that I was miraculously still fit for my duties the next day, despite having no sleep. People who seek glimpses of the Almighty’s designs seldom stop to consider how far beyond us those designs truly are. Even this tiny glimpse is enough to make my head spin. If it weren’t God’s will that you and I be able to process this, I think we’d both be gibbering on the floor from the magnitude of it all.”
“But it gets easier after Multiverse Theory, right?”
The elderly prior blinked, then burst out in hysterical laughter for a full thirty seconds before ceasing abruptly and stating, “No.”
One reading of ‘Chapter Fifty-Six: On Time-Travel’ later…
Jacques stared with bloodshot eyes at the far wall. Methuselah sat peacefully in his rocking chair, sipping his wine. A long silence hung between them.
“But if the mere observation of an experiment changes its results, then shouldn’t it be logically impossible to fix a misaligned timeline by any means other than preventing the person from travelling back in time in the first place?” exclaimed Jacques abruptly.
“Well, you would think that at first glance, but if you turn to page 2291, you will note that Starswhirl’s Theory of Temporal Distortion was, not surprisingly, ahead of its time, and correctly noted that it was technically possible, so long as certain criteria were met, including…”
Great Priory St. Gilles, Provencal, Commandry of the Knights of St. John, Anno Domini 1321, shortly after the conclusion of a study session of arduous and epic proportions…
“Well, my son,” creaked Methuselah as he walked Jacques towards the portal that would lead him into the multiverse, “I must say that you’ve processed all of this information astonishingly fast. There are still a few sections you haven’t mastered yet, but nothing that should keep you from your mission. I am very proud of you.”
“Thank you, Father. I’m proud of me too,” replied Jacques honestly. Methuselah laughed. “Say, Father,” continued Jacques, “how was I able to learn this so quickly?”
Methuselah shrugged. “Well, can’t say for certain, but I’d wager it’s because this world is closer to the Fourth Wall than most.”
Jacques blinked and turned to stare. “What?” he asked.
“What?” echoed Methuselah.
Canterlot High, Canterlot, United States of America
A transformed Sunset Shimmer flew cackling over the heads of the students, working her dark magic to transform them into an army of mindless drones. Twilight and her human friends watched with horror, the princess madly wracking her brain to find some way to stop what was happening.
Her quest for answers came up dry.
It didn’t help that Sunset had apparently decided the occasion called for a song, or that her singing voice oddly reminded Twilight of some recordings she’d heard of herself.
“Oh man, oh man!” exclaimed Rainbow Dash. “Did she just turn into some kind of demon?”
Despite the catastrophic nature of the situation, Twilight could not prevent the more clinical part of her from going into lecture mode. Feeling a strange urge to adjust glasses she didn’t wear, she replied, “Well, no. That would be absurd. While she has taken on an appearance best described as that of a ‘raging she-demon,’ what has actually occurred her is that her hateful emotions and vices, combined with the fact that she stole a power she’s not supposed to have, gave physical form to the evil in the form of a second personality which has transmogrified her body and taken control of her mind.”
Pinkie stroked her chin thoughtfully. “So, basically, it’s like Bruce Banner having the Other Guy, except this one is a pure evil meanie?”
Twilight blinked. “I… have no idea what you’re talking about, but something tells me the answer is ‘yes.’”
The curly-haired girl nodded. “K.”
“Have you seen this before, darling?” asked Rarity.
Sunset’s villainous song reached ever grander notes.
“Oh, sure,” replied Twilight with the casual tone that comes only from repeated brushes with world-ending catastrophe. “When Princess Luna sought power not her own and was consequently consumed by the resulting dark magic to became Nightmare Moon, my friends and I used the Elements of Harmony to destroy the evil personality and free her.”
There was a contemplative pause as Sunset Shimmer reached her crescendo. “But we don’t have the Elements of Harmony,” ventured Applejack.
“Correct,” concurred Twilight.
“…meaning?”
Sunset, her song finished, turned baleful eyes upon them.
Twilight gulped. “We’re hosed.”
Saint Giles Priory, Provencal, France
Friar Jacques and Prior Methuselah stood before the crackling vortex of a portal located, of all places, in the pantry. Jacques clicked his tongue. “So… how long has this been here?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” replied Methuselah. “Which is quite incredible when you consider how often I’ve used this pantry.”
Jacques grunted noncommittally. “I thought the portal was in the hedgerows.”
“No, you’re thinking of the portal to the world of universally powerful sapient ponies,” corrected Methuselah. “This portal is the one to the future Earth that’s been effected by the world of universally powerful sapient ponies.”
“I see,” said Jacques slowly. The two stood in silence for a moment. “Father, do you ever feel like your life is a self-parody?”
“Constantly. Have a safe trip.”
Canterlot High, Canterlot
Canterlot High School had borne witness to many strange happenings over the years. The Piglet Stampede of ’44. The Duck With the Head of a Man Concert of ’71. The catastrophic Nightmare Night of ’89. And, of course, the still-infamous Noodle Incident of ’95.
The present year’s Fall Formal had quickly shaped up to be the strangest by far, stranger even than the Noodle Incident of ’95 (though, admittedly, it was a closer contest than anyone who remembered the Noodle Incident was really comfortable discussing).
As far as physical dangers, of course, there was no contest. Having ripped the front off the school and mind-controlled the student body, the maddened Sunset Shimmer now hovered above Twilight and her friends, mocking them as she prepared to avenge herself upon them. As she and Twilight matched words, no one noticed the portal flare and a new challenger enter the field of battle.
“Gee, the gang really is all back together again!” mocked Sunset as the pitiful group of friends closed around the princess. “Now step aside! Twilight has interfered with my plans one too many times already! She needs to be dealt with!”
“You’ll have to get through us!” challenged Rainbow Dash.
Sunset blinked at the brazen declaration. “You… do know that I can do that, right? I mean, I can literally go through you. Like…” she held out a clawed hand and manifested a basketball sized orb of fire, “it would not even be a contest.” Plainly terrified, the friends, astonishingly, did not back down. A cruel smile crossed Sunset’s features. “Alternatively,” she stretched out her claws and beckoned. Dark magic gripped Twilight and yanked her from her friends’ meager protection, drawing her through the air towards the gloating Sunset. “I can make you watch how little your friendship counts for!”
The five girls cried out in dismay and impotent rage as the terrified Twilight drifted ever closer to her doom. To her credit, the princess struggled gamely against Sunset’s magic, but there was nothing she could do. No way she would survive—
“DEUS VULT!”
A sheet of pure white fire washed over Sunset, and she screamed in pain. The fire did not touch her flesh, but it burned the magic within her. Such was her anguish that she was forced to abandon the grip on Twilight and soar back several pony lengths to escape the attack.
Sunset hissed and rubbed at her eyes, which had been blinded by the attack. Who dares?! How dare?! What is going on?! As her vision gradually cleared, she cast her gaze about, seeking both her attacker and her nemesis, the latter of whom must have at least broken her legs in the fall when Sunset lost her grip. At least she won’t be running away. Once I’ve finished off this interloper I’ll—
Her train of thought was chopped off by the sight of an old, bearded human in a black monk’s robe, holding a quivering Twilight Sparkle in one arm and a gleaming sword in the other.
To her mounting astonishment, the man grinned at her. “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he rumbled politely. “If I may, it strikes me that you have had the misfortune of succumbing to the maddening effects of ill-gotten magic. Might I interest you in a peaceful expulsion of the damage?”
Silence hung over the battlefield as Sunset’s brain processed this turn of events with all the speed of Internet Explorer on a badly used twelve-year-old laptop. Eventually, she found her voice. “What the flying—”
Jacques winced at the profanities flying from the young lady’s mouth. “<Oh dear>,” he murmured in French. “<One more thing to address later>.” Delicately, she set down the gawping teenager he’d caught from the air. “Jeune femme, are you uninjured?” he asked.
The startled girl stood stiffly, eyes wide as dinner plates. “Um… yes?” she managed. “Thank you, Mister…”
“Friar Jacques de Charrette, at your service,” he replied with a slight bow. “And you?”
“Princess Twilight Sparkle of Equestria,” blurted the young woman, who immediately clapped hands over her mouth.
“Just gonna give that secret up, huh?” drawled the hat-wearing girl who trotted up with the others.
Jacques gave a deeper bow. “Princesse,” he corrected. The old man pointed to the expletive-spewing winged one. “Your crown, I presume?”
Twilight nodded. “That’s Sunset Shimmer. She stole the crown, which contains the Element of Magic. It’s a powerful artifact, but when she stole it—”
“The fact that she claimed a power which she was not meant to have caused her to be overwhelmed with the power, which is why she was transformed into a monstrous entity, possibly manifesting a second personality in the process over which she has little, if any, control,” he replied blandly. Seeing that the woman in question was nearing the end of her rant, he raised his sword defensively. “So very glad that I didn’t skip ‘Chapter 13: The Impact of Motivation and Morality Upon Magical Effects’ and ‘Chapter 72: On the Effects of Wielding Illegitimate Power’.”
His statement was greeted with blank stares. “Who—”
Sunset charged an attack. Jacques brought back his sword for a swing. “Behind me please,” he ordered. The girls complied as the fireball shot down. Jacques slashed with his sword and a line of white fire bisected the incoming attack. Infuriated, Sunset sent down a flurry of lighter attacks, which Jacques parried with ease. “Now, I believe you were about to ask something, Princess?”
“Who are you?!”
Jacques smiled dryly, but didn’t look at her as he deflected another round of blasts. “Would you believe a time-travelling warrior priest from the 14th Century?”
“Honestly? Yes.”
That made Jacques look over. “Really?” he exclaimed, almost missing a deflection in his shock. “Heavens, your life must be quite eventful.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” replied Twilight tiredly.
Jacques, growing tired of constant parrying, stuck the point of his sword in the ground and swept it in a lateral arc, throwing up a protective wall of fire. Gesturing with his hand, he brought the fire fully around them to make a dome. He smiled in satisfaction as he surveyed his handiwork. “Ah, it is marvelous to simply know all of this,” remarked the old man. “Can you imagine if I had to learn all of this as I went along over the course of years of exhaustive training and practice of arms rather than a few days with a large book? And that’s to say nothing of the incredible and borderline comedic levels of power I’m displaying.”
“Yeah, it’s good to have the power boost for a hastily thrown together joke fight scene,” agreed the poofy-haired one, “but, on the other hand, the struggle version would probably make for a more satisfying long-term narrative because of the innate desire of Humanity for edifying tales of heroes enduring trials.”
“True enough,” acknowledged Jacques, ignoring the blank looks the other teens were now giving their companion. “Down to brass tacks, however, I have a few clarifying questions about the Element of Magic. Am I correct in my belief that it is, essentially, a holy relic tied to virtue rather than to whoever arbitrarily picks it up?”
“Well, yes,” replied Twilight. “Sunset isn’t really wielding the Element of Magic. She’s wielding the rather substantial amount of magic that’s stored in the crown, but the Element itself rejects her.”
“Meaning that the Element itself is apart from the crown,” said Jacques. “Theoretically, it could be wielding without the crown then?”
“Yes?” answered Twilight uncertainly. “I mean, it should be possible, as Nightmare Moon ‘destroyed’ the Elements, only to find that they weren’t destroyed, because they were tied to the higher virtues and the ponies who represented them. But that doesn’t help us here, because we don’t have the other Elements, unless,” her gaze drifted to her friends. “Unless…” she struck her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I’m an idiot. Hold on a second, Friar. We’ve got this.”
“We do?” quavered the timid-looking girl.
“We do. Step one involves standing in a circle holding hands. Step two involves a speech…”
Sunset Shimmer shrieked her rage to the heavens as strike after strike impacted impotently off the massive dome shield. The effort did nothing but leave her panting. As she recovered her strength, a thought occurred to her and she couldn’t help but facepalm. I have a freaking army. I can just order them into the dome! I doubt this guy wants to flambe anyone… wait, actually, that might not work. His magic seemed to hurt my magic, not me, so if I just march them in there it might do the opposite of what I want it to.
From inside the dome, she heard Twilight shouting something about ‘the Magic of Friendship’ and how ‘Sunset cannot wield the true Element’, yadda yadda yadda, but Sunset was too busy contemplating her next move to listen.
Maybe if I send in one or two as a test and go from there. Scientific method in action. Who to send, though… let’s see… who’s the most expendable—
A massive double-helix of rainbow energy shot up from the dome shield, arcing across the sky before rocketing down…
Straight for Sunset Shimmer.
“Oh son of a—”
FRIENDSHIP!
Jacques and his newfound friends stared at the smoldering crater, the discombobulated student body stumbling in a daze around them. The friar nodded sagely and remarked, “Well. That was bracing.” Glancing at his companions, he saw that three of them had sprouted wings. “Is that… normal?”
Sunset coughed as the dust cleared, leaving her at the bottom of a crater, broken and humiliated, with all her sins laid bare, even to herself. She was free of the Other Girl now, and in the wake of her departure she saw clearly what she’d done. Saw that she’d enslaved and nearly murdered innocents for the sake of her own petty hate.
If she could have died right then, she would have.
The was the crunch of gravel, and through her tears Sunset saw a pair of sandaled feet and a black robe. Her eyes drifted up, and looming over her was the mysterious warrior monk who had denied her wicked victory. His face was expressionless as he regarded her, his grey eyes unreadable, but the sword in his hand spoke volumes. It seemed that she would get her death wish after all. She bowed her head, resigned to her fate, knowing that she deserved this end and simply grateful that she’d been released from the madness before the end.
But the end didn’t come.
There was a rasp of steel on leather and the rustle of fabric. Astonished she was not dead, Sunset opened her eyes to see that he’d sheathed his sword and knelt sit at her level.
“My name is Friar Jacques de Charette,” he said kindly in his basso French accent. “And you?”
Sunset gaped. He’d said it so casually, as though this was a meeting at a dinner party rather than the aftermath of a titanic battle that had ended with her getting purged of an evil personality spawned of dark magic and left at the bottom of a crater. Instinct took over, and she responded automatically. “Sun— Sunset Shimmer.”
“Well, Miss Shimmer, you have dabbled in things you should not have.” His tone was plain and without apology. She looked away in shame, but a soft chuckle bade her look back. He sat with a kindly smile on his face, holding out a gnarled hand. “Would you like me to show you a better path?”
She stared at the hand, blinking away tears, then up at his eyes. A thousand questions were on her mind, but only one really mattered. “…why?”
“Because to save a soul is worth my life,” the man replied simply.
He said it as though there were not great mystery to it, but Sunset didn’t believe him. How could it be that simple? How could she just be saved after everything that she’d done? But he seemed so sure of himself. And, in all fairness, he and the others did defeat me…
Taking a deep breath and shutting her eyes, Sunset clasped his hand.
Twilight and the others helped Jacques and Sunset out of the pit. The princess was gratified to see that, despite the tightness in their body language as they did it, her human friends didn’t hesitate to pull the girl up. They then attempted to thank the old man for his actions, but he waved them aside. “I am merely an old soldier doing his duty,” he replied. Turning, he fixed Twilight with an odd gaze. “Tell me, Princess. You are not really human are you?”
How in the hay did he…?! “Um, well, no,” she admitted, tugging at her skirt slightly.
“I’m sure that’s quite a story,” he said with a smile. “Much as I would like to hear it, however, there are spiritual matters which must be attended to first. Could you perhaps direct me to the nearest Catholic church?”
The alicorn-turned-human gulped, having not the faintest idea. “Um…”
“There’s one about a half mile up the road, there, padre,” interjected Applejack, coming to her rescue. “Big brick buildin’. Saint Moses the Black.”
Jacques chuckled. “The bandit-turned-monk. A redemption story of legendary proportions. Fitting, under the circumstances. Well, we shall be departing in a moment, but first,” he stepped aside to let Sunset speak. “I imagine Sunset Shimmer has something to say to you.”
The unicorn-human stepped forward slowly, tears welling in her eyes. “Princess Twilight, I—” she sank to her knees, sobbing. “I’m so sorry! I’m so, so sorry!”
It took some time for Sunset to calm down enough to fully apologize, but Twilight was patient. Such matters took time. Once the young woman had finished, Twilight gave her a short lecture about friendship. As for forgiveness, it was readily given. Her friends followed suit and promised to keep Sunset on the straight-and-narrow once Twilight returned home. With that, Jacques and Sunset departed, the former humming under his breath and occasionally asking Sunset about some piece of the scenery. At one point he became very animated at the sight of a car, and Sunset had to spend a moment explaining some feature of it to him before he finally returned to the mission at hand.
The group was silent after his departure. At least, until Fluttershy said, “He seemed nice.”
Rainbow cleared her throat. “Sooooooo, crazy sword-toting old guy coming out of a portal… he one of your spec ops guys or something?”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Rainbow,” chided Rarity. “He had no idea who Twilight was and is obviously a Catholic monk of some sort or another.”
“Yeah,” chuckled Applejack. “An’ somehow Ah don’t think they got Catholic monks in Equestria. Er…” she glanced at Twilight for confirmation, “right?”
Twilight shook her head. “I don’t know where he’s from, but I’d be willing to bet my crown it wasn’t Equestria.”
“Maybe don’t bet the thing we just got back,” growled Spike.
The princess ignored him, staring after the retreating figure of the monk. “I have to admit, though, there’s something eerily familiar about him. Almost as though we’ve met before.”
“Yeah,” chimed in Pinkie. “Like in an alternate reality you haven’t become a princess yet but he travelled from Earth in the past to Equestria to help you fight a shadowy group of cultists practicing the Dark Arts!”
“Yeah,” said Twilight. “Wait, what?”
“What?” echoed Pinkie.
Thus began the tale of Friar Jacques de Charette, who would face many foes, right many wrongs, mend many broken lives, and become regarded as a saint in his own lifetime. The future would see him as the patron of soldiers, confessors, former criminals, those consumed by power, heroes of destiny, portal-travelers, and impromptu epic metal musical throwdowns. But that’s another story…
Author's Notes:
I finally wrote it!
Sure, it's not the best thing I've ever written, but, hey, I mostly wrote it to set up for Friar Jacques vs. the Sirens.
Which I will write!
...
Eventually!
...
Really!
...
Don't hurt me!
